


Your New Boss From Hell

by TheTruemeK



Category: LOVECRAFT H. P. - Works, Undertale (Video Game), Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: 5.0.5. - Freeform, As is Sans, Blackhat is an Asshole in this, Blood and Violence, Crimes, Deals, Dementia, Dubious Consent, Earl - Freeform, Eldritch Blackhat, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Female Reader, Hazbin Hotel - Freeform, Heroes, Horror, Hypnotism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lovecraftian Lore, Mobster!Sans - Freeform, Multi, Multiverse, Mutilation, Nonbinary Frisk (Undertale), Playlist, Reader works for Blackhat, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, So much horror, Suicide Attempt, Thief-Reader, Trans Dr. Flug (Villainous), Villains, Your-Not-So-Nice-Story, cocky reader, lovecraft, mafia, mafiatale, you are such a brat jfc, you swear so much is2g
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2020-03-06 18:58:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 42
Words: 225,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18857107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTruemeK/pseuds/TheTruemeK
Summary: The last thing you saw was a familiar toothy grin in a familiar skeletal face, golden canine flashing at you."sorry doll but i can’t have ya ruinin' my goddamn business."And then your vision turned black from one second to the next.-This is your story. A not so nice one, mind you, but you're pretty used to that by now, huh? Yetthis onehas it all: the violence, the thrill of a thief's life, betrayal, a horrible man in a black top hat with an even more horrible fate in store for you, and a terrible truth you wish you never uncovered!-►Follow the Story along with the actual playlist!: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/58U5oW8u96CjitxmCX2i8h-Updates everytwoweeks!! Or whenever I feel like it ayyyy-►Wanna stay updated? Check the story's twitter! @YNBFHofficial-This story will be getting achievements! Can you find them all??Next chapter will be delayed because I got sick and might need to go to the hospital. 🙏





	1. It was a Dark and Stormy Night

**Author's Note:**

> You might notice that all the Chapter Titles seem a bit familiar, no? Well, that's because I have made this writing process even WORSE for me by creating a playlist for this story and assigning each chapter a fitting title that also somewhat fits the tune of the story itself and,, *explodes from multi-tasking aneurysm*
> 
> ►https://open.spotify.com/playlist/58U5oW8u96CjitxmCX2i8h
> 
> I hope you enjoy this brand new monster of a fanfiction I've decided to tackle! I love Villainous and I can't fucking wait for the actual show aaaaah!!

_The sharp tang of bile was itching in your throat and you cough to get rid of the sensation, your face streaked with hot tears. Blackhat's raspy cackle makes you shiver._

 

### 1\. It Was A Dark And Stormy Night

 

 

The last thing you saw was a familiar toothy grin in a familiar skeletal face, golden canine flashing at you.

_sorry doll but i can’t have ya ruinin' my goddamn business._

And then your vision turned black from one second to the next.

 

* * *

 

 

When you come to again, it’s more like jerking awake from accidentally falling asleep; your heart rate immediately through the roof, your body shooting up on its own, and your brain struggling to keep up with the speed of your base reflexes.

The first and only thing you know for sure is: you aren’t safe!

It stays dark all around as you open your eyes, blinking a few times to make sure you’re really awake. The second thing you become aware of is a throbbing pain at the back of your head, emphasized by your now thundering heartbeat. An involuntary groan slips through your clenched jaws and you quickly feel for the painful spot beneath your hair. Dried blood yields under your fingertips and the groan turns into a pained hiss. And as if that had been the trigger, your other senses suddenly tune in.

You become aware of the shrill alarm ringing in your ears, loud enough to make you jump to your feet only to fall back on your butt when a sudden vertigo grabs hold of you. You can barely stifle the pathetic whine rising in your throat.

_That siren sounds too much like a burglar-alarm – what the fuck is going on?_

A bolt of lightning from outside illuminates your surroundings for a split second and burns the negative into your retina before the cracking thunder drowns out even the blaring alarm.

You flinch back, both from the noise and the unknown surroundings. The image of the broken high window you're lying in front of confuses you more than that it yields any answers as to why you’re _here_ and where the hell _here_ is.

Once again you try to stand, placing your hands on the ground, and this time you yelp in pain when sharp glass shards cut into your palms. There's more glass in your clothes, your hair, and upon further inspection you notice fine cuts on your face. As if you had jumped head first through the window…

   “What the…” you mumble, alarmed, and wheel around when you suddenly hear more noises through the growling thunder and the shrieking of the siren.

Voices.

Agitated voices; one of them barking orders.

Your mind is racing; it's the black of night, you’re inside a house you don’t know, you apparently came in through the window, triggered an alarm and… knocked yourself out?

Tiny hackles rise in response to your finely attuned instincts and you blink rapidly, trying to get accustomed to the darkness and look for a place to hide. This is more than bad. If you were indeed on a heist and had managed to screw up this royally despite your level of experience, then you had to get out of this mess quickly!

Immediately though, you turn to the window and carefully feel your way towards the wooden sill. It was plain stupid to hide _inside_ \- and probably get cornered by whoever was now looking for you – when you could simply get the hell out of here the way you’d come in from.

Bracing yourself on the windowsill, you already attempt to swing a leg over and through the gaping hole, when you stop dead in your tracks, your heart leaping into your throat.

You are over 30 feet above the ground.

Cursing hoarsely under your breath, you quickly push away from the window and stumble farther into the dark room. Now your eyes are darting around in panic, searching desperately for a hiding place.

 _How the fuck did I get in through that window??_ You ask yourself completely dumbfounded and quietly sneak up to the only door you can find. The how isn’t that important right now. The _how to not get fucking caught_ is your one and only priority!

Fortunately the door isn’t locked so you’re able to quietly open it an inch and peer out into the dark hallway beyond. It is a little brighter out there and you quickly take in the thick, dark runner covering the floor, the expensive wooden wall-panels and the golden, gilded frame of a huge painting across from you. Definitely a place you’d normally rob. Still not explaining where you are, how the hell you got here and what it is you might have been looking for.

Suddenly a shrill, male voice cuts through your thoughts: “Dementia! The intruder has to be on this floor – get them!”, followed by such an insane fit of laughter that it has you breaking out in a cold sweat. But that is nothing compared to the shockwave racing down the hallway, announcing the distinct feeling of a _presence_ , so malicious and threatening that you instinctively recoil, almost letting the heavy wooden door fall shut before you can manage to clutch the doorknob again.

    “ ** _Flug_**!” The thundering voice seems to echo unnaturally inside your skull and you shake where you’re frozen to the spot, the cold sweat from before turning to ice on your skin. _Who is that? Or more importantly…_ what _is that?!_

    “Y-yes, sir?!” the first voice answers, sounding almost as scared as you are. Which scares you even more and sparks a dreadful suspicion in the back of your brain.

    “Explain.” The entity simply growls. You have no doubt that the owner of that voice is _not_ human.

    “Well, uh, you see boss we're having a- um, a break-in and-"

    “I am aware of that you imbecile! Why haven’t you caught the intruder yet?! That blasted alarm is starting to seriously get on my nerves…” There’s an unhidden threat in his voice, the promise of agony, and the one called Flug is now even quicker to answer.

    “S- sorry boss, I will turn it off immediately! Dementia!” he yells once more with cracking voice, reminding you with another pang of fear that there had been a third person! You strain your ears at the sudden absence of the alarm. "I thought you already tracked them down!! You useless lizard!”

The answer is a defiant hiss and the sound of something quickly scuttling along the walls and ceiling.

    “Don’t tell me what to do, nerd! I’ll have them caught before one of your stupid robots gets the chance! And then I’ll rip them to tiny shreds!” the high-pitched female voice shrieks, shrill enough to grate on your nerves like a buzz saw.

You swallow the growing lump in your throat and slowly close the door. You’ve heard enough. This clearly isn’t just some fancy old mansion of rich snobs. This is a villain's lair!

    “No.” The inhuman voice snaps. "I want them alive. I want to know how they got past our defenses and then I'll have a chat with _you_ , doctor.” You almost feel bad for the poor guy named Flug. Almost. However your self-preservation ranks higher than any sympathy for another villain's henchman.

You scan the room, but apart from a few bookshelves and dusty side-tables it is disappointingly empty. And since that Dementia can apparently scale walls you doubt that hiding on top of the shelves is going to do you any good.

    “Fuck, fuck, fuck!...” you whisper and hurry back to the window, digging in your jacket's pockets for your gear. Your knives probably aren't exactly suited to double as climbing spikes but they might offer enough support to hang on the wall until they're done with searching the study room.

Your breathing stops altogether when you are met with only emptiness. You quickly pat down the chest part of your modified leather jacket. No dice; every hidden pocket has been emptied! No lockpicks, no knives, not even your fucking phone which means you can't even call base for backup!

How in the _fuck_ did you get into this mess? This isn't you! You would never even leave your own apartment without at least a handful of throwing knives hidden in the sleeves of your jacket! You're keys are missing as well, as is your wallet. Basically everything you owned and carried on your person is gone!

Your mind is once more racing, frantically trying to dig up any memory of how you got here or what you were doing _before_ you had gotten here.

    “Fuck. Sans is going to kill me if I even make it out of here alive…”

Yeah… _if_ was the right term in this situation.

Before you can sense anything, you are suddenly thrown onto your back by something heavy, your startled scream knocked out of you from the impact with the hardwood floorboards.

The pain in your head spikes cruelly when it is slammed into the ground by a strong hand. Above you, a shrill, girlish voice cackles hysterically and you can see yellow eyes glinting in the van light.

    “Ahahahaha, gotcha!” So this Dementia can move stealthily as well!? You twist beneath her legs and kick at her, but she spins you around with alarming strength and pulls your arms onto your back in the same motion, making your joints sing with pain as your face is smooshed against the wood. "Wanna fight, little thief? You're no match for Dementia the Destroyer!!” she roars and gives your arms another warning twist, making you actually cry out at the pain now.

    " _Fuck_!! Stop it you bitch!! Fine, I yield, you got me!” you yell, only in order to get her to loosen her grip, but the maniac doesn’t budge one inch. Instead she plops down on your back and hums an awfully happy tune.

Not a second later you hear footsteps entering the room and strain your neck to look at the newcomer. Something strikes you as oddly familiar as you quickly scan the person you can only assume to be Doctor Flug.

He’s wearing a crinkled and stained labcoat over a blue graphic tee and jeans, red converse shoes and a… you blink in disbelief. His entire head is covered by a paper bag, the only thing visible being a pair of tinted safety goggles somehow strapped over the brown paper. The light from the hallway makes them glint like headlights and with the way he has his arms crossed on his back it makes him look more like an evil genius than you would have given him credit for after that exchange with his… _boss_.

    “Uh…” you make, not really sure what to say in your defense. You’re starting to think that someone must have tricked you, set you up. There is no way you would decide to pull a heist on a fricking _villain_ out of all people to rob and then come unprepared and somehow manage to crash through a window in the third floor!

Flug cocks his head to one side, the gleam of his goggles shifting with the motion and somehow giving him an almost eerie amount of expression.

   “If you're smart, you won't resist and answer my questions, got it?” he says, not unfriendly, but it's exactly that niceness that makes you extra cautious.

   “Listen, I wish I could explain… _this_. But I honestly have no fucking idea how I even got here. I'm terribly sorry about the window, um… I know what this must look like but I assure you-" Before you get any further, another forceful shockwave moves the air around you and Flug cowers a little. Even Dementia, still perched on your back, flinches so hard she yanks on your arms.

But you don't make any sound. You just don't dare. Because the being that suddenly emerges from the shadows themselves is no one other than…

    “L- Lord Blackhat, sir!” Flug croaks, shaking violently at the almost physical waves of rage the super-villain is exuding and that seems to be directed at everything and everyone in this dark and dusty study.

You openly gape at him, your mind overpowered by terror. If the situation had been bad before, it's gone to full-blown shit now. Of course you know him. _Everyone_ knows him!

Blackhat, founder and owner of the nefarious Black Hat Organization, is the only untouchable force in the entire underworld of evil. Since he provides every villain that has the money (or, allegedly, _souls_ ) with high grade weaponry of mass destruction and havoc galore, he is basically immune to any form of assault from them or their rivals. If something like a godfather of all villains even existed, it would have to be this man. Whose manor you apparently broke in to.

To sum it all up: you were as good as _dead_!

You already take a quick breath to sputter out a wave of apologies and start your well-established groveling routine, when the glare out of his one eye settles on you and crushes any amount of courage you have kept until now. He is already way fucking scarier than your own boss could ever hope to be, and that one was a fucking skeleton!

Blackhat hasn't even done anything to you yet, let alone spoken a single word, and you already feel tears stinging  at the corners of your eyes. Fuck, this is not how you wanted to die!

He’s just standing there, one hand casually resting on his back, the other propped on the curve of an elegant black walking cane. You can see the shimmer on his polished shoes, complete with galoshes, the fine material of his suit pants and you know, you just know, that he is going to do horrible things to you.

    “Mr. Blackhat…” you whisper and immediately have to swallow, your throat dry as a desert. But you regret to have ever opened your mouth almost instantly. The long, antennae-like brows draw together into a scowl beneath the rim of his signature black top hat with the red hatband, and the arm he's still keeping behind his back flexes ever so slightly. Yet you are being flung into the air, Dementia tumbling off you with a yelp. An invisible force wraps around your throat and _squeezes_. Your hands desperately claw at your neck, trying frantically to free it from the horrible chokehold.

Your struggle elicits a cruel grin from Blackhat that takes up almost two thirds of his ashen face, giant fangs glowing green in the dark and his monocle gleaming dangerously. A low, entirely evil chuckle begins to work its way out his chest as he squeezes once more before suddenly dropping you to the ground. You gasp for air, taking lung after lung full of precious oxygen, trembling on your hands and knees.

    “I'll do the talking, you pathetic excuse for a thief.” He growls, his raspy, strangely accented voice sounding as far from human as possible while still being understandable. To your utter horror, Dementia giggles in delight and scuttles excitedly along the broken window, emitting something close to an actual dreamy sigh. _Yikes_.

You just nod in defeat and slump down, resting on your hip to conserve your strength.

    “Who are you working for.” It's not a question. It's an order and your barely settled heart freaks out again. You can't tell him! Your boss will kill you if you get him into trouble with his own weapons dealer! And if Blackhat is only half the malicious monster everyone makes him out to be, he will make sure to deliver you straight to Sans, gift box and all, to let him grind you into a fine paste himself.

Unless…

Suddenly, mercifully, a memory flashes before your eyes, a series of images and a dark, heavily accented voice from behind red smoke. You remember the throbbing wound in the back of your skull. Sluggishly, the pieces seem to form an image but…

    “No…” you mumble to yourself, somehow having forgotten that you are currently tap dancing on a blade's edge. "He wouldn’t…”

The strike of the cane takes you off-guard and you cry out in pain when the hard wood swiftly slashes over your face, tearing your cheek open. You're thrown to the ground by the sheer force and quickly press a hand over the fresh cut.

    “Speak up you bothersome nuisance!” Blackhat snarls impatiently. "Your worthless existence is only prolonged because I want to snuff out two insignificant maggots today to make it worth my time! So you better give me a name, or…” His voice rises menacingly and with it his features distort, eye suddenly glowing red and fangs stretching into needle-like daggers while his jaws open inhumanly wide, ready to maul and tear into delicate skin-

    “Sans!” you all but scream out. “I- I work for Sans Gaster. But- but I wasn’t sent here by him, I swear! He…” Your panicked explanation runs into a dead end since you still don’t know what the fuck happened to you after…

Right, you had returned from another heist on a hero's safe-house, arms full of cash and secrets. Then one of the monsters running messages had told you the boss wanted to speak to you and you had taken the metal steps up to where he had his office in the abandoned factory building. The stuffy air inside had smelled of mustard and cigars, like usually, clouds of red smoke billowing around your boss's wide, skeletal frame. He had eyed you with his usual grin, golden canine flashing in the light.

Blackhat makes an irritated, confused noise that still somehow sounds angry enough to make you snap back to attention.

    “Who?”

You almost burst out laughing in disbelief. How the fuck does he not remember one of his own customers? Sans had even made you watch one of Blackhat's orientation tapes  to demonstrate you what would happen to you if you should ever cut from his share of your heists.

You flinch at the thought. You had never cut his share! You had always been too afraid of getting beat up more than you already were. Or worse…

    “Boss, he- he's one of our regular customers, even has a golden card as of lately.” Flug interjects anxiously and quickly pulls out a phone, scrolling through something before showing it to Blackhat who makes a disgusted face at the device.

    “Eugh. That skeleton mobster? He must be seriously suicidal if he dares to send his lowlife hoodlums to my lair!” suddenly the single, sharp pupil darts down on you again and you already fear another swing. "Tell me, tiny thief… how did you know where to find my organization?” he demands to know.

    “I didn't!” you try  to explain. “I have no idea where the hell I am or how I got here, I swear on my life!”

Blackhat scoffs at that: "Your life means nothing to me, little thief.”

    “Yeah? Well it does to me!” you blurt out before you can stop yourself, mortifying dread immediately gripping your innards in an ice-cold clutch. Though maybe it's just Blackhat again, judging by the way his expression darkens and by Flug's shocked gasp.

 _Shit_.

To your horror, Blackhat's smile returns. Only now it's a grin as wide as that of a Cheshire cat, perfectly delighted in the prospect of what might come next and he raises the hand not holding the cane, curling his gloved fingers into a fist par for his middle finger and thumb.

    “Dr. Flug.” He announces darkly. "I'll be in the dungeon. Clean this mess up and start working on better defenses.”

    “Yessir, right away sir. Have fun sir.” Flug hurries to reply while also taking a few steps away from his boss. Up on the wall, Dementia cackles. You feel the sudden need to swallow thickly again.

    "Du- Dungeon?” But then Blackhat already snaps his fingers and you're pulled down through the floor, darkness engulfing your body. Immediately you start screaming, yet no sound leaves your throat. Instead, you hear a howling all around you like the pained cries of a thousand doomed souls. The darkness thickens and churns, threatening to suffocate you before it spits you back out again and you're dropped onto hard, cold stone.

The sharp tang of bile tingles in your throat and you cough to get rid of the sensation, your face streaked with hot tears. Blackhat's raspy cackle behind you makes you shiver.

    “Now, don’t get all too comfortable little thief.” He mocks you as he approaches, dress shoes clacking brightly on the stone floor. You want to whirl around and recoil from him, but your body won't obey you. All it can do is tremble in fear. You're not really afraid of torture. Sans had inflicted more pain on you on a daily basis than Blackhat can perhaps imagine, so you're pretty used to that.

What you're really afraid of is Blackhat himself. Or rather, what other horrors his unearthly powers can conjure up to torment your mind. Sure, Sans Gaster was a monster, figuratively and quite literally, able to work all kinds of creepy magic himself. But something about the sharply dressed gentleman in the black hat tells you that he is on an entirely different level of evil. In all honesty, he reminds you of the devil himself.

And he’s coming closer.

 

 


	2. Sunday Bloody Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting the second chapter already because I am one imPATIENT BITCH

_You try to get into a better position, eventually keeping your head ducked in the dark corner. At least now you won’t see the thing that is going to kill you in your sleep._

 

### 2\. Sunday Bloody Sunday

 

The tip of the cane digs into the soft skin under your chin and forces you to lift your gaze off the ground, straining your neck to look at the entity before you.

    “Welcome to the Black Hat Organization dungeon little thief.” Blackhat grates with a chuckle. “Before we begin, is there maybe something you want to tell me, hm?” the dangerous glint in his eye is almost enough to just confess to everything he wants to hear, but you have fought similar staring contests before when a single red and golden eyeball was trying to skewer you where you knelt on the floor. So you raise your chin off the cane, sit back on your heels and jut your jaw forward. Defiant. Stubborn.

That's how Papyrus used to call you after you had endured his spiked boots for almost half an hour without giving him the name of the poor sod who had broken the side mirror off of his beloved black convertible.

    “I told you, I don't _know_ how I got into your lair or where that lair even is! My boss didn’t send me to spy on you or anything and I certainly did not mean to steal anything from you, Mr. Blackhat.”

The kick comes too quickly for you to turn and mitigate its force, and it sends you straight back down on the ground, blood splashing over the stone in an almost artistic arch from the wound in your cheek.

    “That's _Lord_ Blackhat to you, runt!” he growls. In a second he is above you and grabs you by the collar of your jacket. The very next, you're slammed onto a wooden table that creaks under your weight. You look down and see leather shackles attached to it where your wrists and ankles rest.

But Blackhat doesn’t use them to fetter you to the table. Doesn’t _need_ them. Something black and grossly wet creeps over the edge of the table, quickly wrapping around your limbs and pulling them taught against it. You hiss at the sting and quickly try to see what your captor is doing next. The wound on your head pops back open when he suddenly appears in your field of vision and you flinch back in response, banging your skull against the wood.

Your pained sounds elicit another mean chuckle from him and he runs a long, gloved finger over the black, oozing tentacle binding you.

    “I told you not to get too comfortable. That also means not to get too impertinent with me!” Before your eyes the formerly nicely shaped hand transforms into a giant ghoulish thing with sharp, long claws, aiming at your neck.

You make a desperate noise in the back of your throat and squirm, trying to get away from it. Blackhat's raucous, unbridled laughter rings in your ears.

    “L- Lord Blackhat _please_ , I'm telling the truth! I'm a professional at my trade, do you really think I would attempt to rob the- the greatest villain who ever lived with nothing on my person to aid me? If I wanted to die like a fool I could have just knocked on your front door!”

    “You wouldn’t even have made it to the door!” he hisses into your ear, but your words do seem to give him pause for the first time tonight.

    “I'm really sorry for the disturbance I’ve caused, please, grant me a chance to make it up to you.” You add quickly while you still have the opportunity to speak.

  “I will devour your worthless little soul as compensation!” he growls and the claws move again to rip you to shreds.

    “Haaahh, umm, I was more thinking about _working_ for you to repay my debt?!” you squeak breathlessly. Once again he stops. "You are a _businessman_ after all, right? My talents could be very beneficial for your business.” You offer, allowing a touch of a purr to lace your voice. Blackhat's single eye narrows promptly at you, flinging your brain straight back into mindless panic.

    "Please don't kill me, sir…” Is all you manage as your final case in defense.

For a moment the dealer of death just stares at you, scrutinizing every taught line in your face before suddenly leaning closely over you to stare into your eyes which immediately widen in utter terror. Something is happening to his face again, its features shifting and twisting, long, spiked mandibles slipping out of his mouth, dripping with sickly colored saliva, monocle glowing on its own with an eerie red shine and you feel like reality itself unravels at the horror Blackhat unleashes upon your poor mortal soul.

Your screams have to be heard throughout the entire mansion despite the dungeon’s thick walls. When Blackhat finally lets up on you, you're a sobbing mess, entire body shaking violently and you don’t even notice him calling for the Doctor. The black tentacles retract and you immediately roll over to puke off the table.

    “Ugh, you humans are gross. But I am impressed; you have managed to not soil yourself at least. Now get up, you're not done yet.” He barks at you and you try to sit up, only to start falling off the table when your body simply collapses. Thankfully, a strong hand catches you. Already about to thank him, you shut yourself up immediately when you feel the painful pressure of a claw probing the wound in the back of your head.

    “That was already there when I woke up in your study.” You groan, exhausted. Blackhat utters a thoughtful sound.

The heavy door opens with a head-splitting creak and you can almost sense Dr. Flug's nervous energy in the room.

    “Y-yes, sir?”

Blackhat tips your body back with a shove, so you quickly prop yourself up on the table, and turns away from you, wiping his hands on his black coat.

    “Search her. And see to it that she doesn't bleed all over my torture chamber. When you're done, lock her up and have the failure clean this mess. I need to think about a _suitable_ way to dispose of her.” With that he leaves and all you can do is try and burn a hole into his back with your teary eyes.

The door slams shut with a final sound and you quickly focus on Flug, eying him alertly. You could easily take him in a fight… if you weren't currently on your last leg and weak as a kitten. Plus, you've been caught off-guard one too many times since you've woken up in this strange place, so you deem it wiser not to underestimate the good doctor who apparently doesn't have any greater issue with living to serve a creature of horror _greater_ than the devil himself.

    “I'm surprised to see you're still in one piece.” Flug comments and approaches you. The casual way he moves makes it absolutely clear to you that he _knows_ how absolutely _wrecked_ the little display of Blackhat's ire has left you. It's almost insulting enough to chance giving him a head-butt right between his goggles, as he takes a piece of gauze out his labcoat's pocket to cover the bleeding slash in your cheek.

You don't risk it. His boss might still be too close for comfort. Instead, you take a few deep breaths and shrug, some of the fear leaving you despite the gruesome announcement of Lord Blackhat concerning your future.

    “I think he _likes_ me.” You return with a cynical snort and watch how Flug stops in his movements before clearly stifling his own chuckle behind a fist stuck in a yellow safety rubber glove.

    “Your gallows humor won't save you, you know?” he remarks almost chidingly and motions for you to take off your jacket.

    “I've been told.” You sigh. In fact, your gallows humor was one of the things constantly earning you a thorough beating from a certain skeleton mobster boss.

Flug quickly snatches the jacket you proffer him, giving you another doubtful glance. Then he puts two rubber-gloved fingers under his paper bag and whistles loudly. You immediately fear the return of his master, trying to curl up on the table, when the door opens to reveal…

    “A… blue bear?” And here you thought this couldn't get any weirder! But then this sense of familiarity strikes you again when you see the odd yellow flower on its head and suddenly you remember. “Ooooh, I know you! You're 5.0.5.!” you exclaim and actually smile when the bear waves at you.

Flug turns to you again and you swear you can tell he's raising a brow.

    "How do you know 5.0.5?” he asks, honestly surprised.

    “Uh, my boss made me watch one of your orientation tapes for evil henchmen… multiple times.” You reply, waving back at the bear. You always felt bad for him, seeing that he clearly didn’t belong in a world of villains.

Flug makes a noise similar to the one Blackhat had upon discovering the wound on your head. That reminds you…

    “Hey um, doc? Could you take a look at my head as well?” you ask, pointing to where you can still feel the warm blood on your scalp. Flug tells 5.0.5 to keep an eye on you before he steps around the table, parting your soaked hair.

    “Oh this is nothing, blunt force trauma is one of Lord Blackhat's specialties…” he waves you off but you shake your head.

    “That wasn't him. It was already there when I woke up in the study.” You emphasize, still trying to explain your miserable situation. Flug makes another contemplative noise and thumbs over the wound, making you hiss at the pain. 5.0.5 pats your knee with a fluffy blue paw.

“Now do you believe me? I think someone knocked me out and… I dunno, threw me through your window? I know it sounds like total bogus but there's really no way I would rob someone, anyone for that matter, without my _tools_ that I keep in my jacket, which aren't there! I have a reputation to uphold, too, you know?”

Flug comes back around, your precious jacket slung over his arm. His other hand is rubbing his chin beneath the paper bag, causing little crinkling noises.

    “It does look like a hit to take you out… but I first have to examine _this_ and have my bots analyze the perimeter before I can confirm your story. Until then…” he nods at the bear and you're suddenly lifted up by a pair of blue paws and flung over a soft furry shoulder. It feels really cozy and you allow your eyes to shut for a second.

But the comfortable ride only lasts a few steps before you're set down on the floor again, quickly taking in the new surroundings. A stone-walled prison cell without a window.

“…we have to keep you locked up. Sorry.” Flug shrugs nonchalantly and closes the door. You step up to the bars, watching him leave with the bear.

    “Ey, please don't destroy my jacket!?” you call after him but he already rounds a corner and is gone. You sigh, sinking down to the cold, dusty floor. Without your jacket, you're soon starting to get cold in only your t-shirt and a pair of black leggings. It's what you had been wearing after returning from your last heist.

You wrap your arms around your drawn up legs, resting your chin on your knees. This has, by far, been the worst day of your life. Well, okay, maybe not _the_ worst, that title was still defended by the day the Gaster brothers both had a go at you after you had shot off your mouth even more than usually – and in front of the entire gang.

In fact, you get the feeling that Blackhat went easy on your ass. He basically just scared the crap out of you and slapped you around a bit. For a villain of his repute, that was child’s play!

Sighing, you run your hands over your face, hissing when you brush against the barely treated wound in your cheek. By now, your suspicion has almost confirmed itself and even if you don’t want to admit it, it’s pretty damn likely.

Sans betrayed you. Finally, you almost want to add, but the thought still hurts worse than all his beatings. After all, his merry band of monsters and lowlife humans had been the only family you’ve ever known! Hell, most of the lowest members of his gang you considered your _friends_ , and true ones, too!

And Sans Gaster had been willing to put up with your constant solo-trips as long as he got his share. Even your insolence and insubordination had more often than not only amused than really annoyed him!

Your brows furrow when you think about it. More importantly, you were his _best_ thief and con-artist, and that wasn’t even an exaggeration! When one of the Gaster brothers’ own big coups would fail, they could always still rely on a steady income _you_ provided! And that ultimately financed Sans compulsive shopping for nefarious items sold by a certain, top-hat-wearing _demon_!

Gradually, you get more and more upset at the thought that Sans could have called you in to his office to _talk_ to you, then knocked you out and driven you to god-knows-where-this-place-is and just flung you in through the window! Not that it wasn’t possible – it actually explained how you could have gotten in through that window in the third floor! You had experienced that special kind of gravity-magic more than once on your own body. More often a painful experience, it had also been quite useful in some heists when you had to enter through a roof with no access to it.

    “But why?!” you ask out loud into the silence and flinch from your own voice. Another shiver runs through your body and makes the door you’re leaning against clatter in its frame.

    “Bwwao?”

The light is suddenly blocked out from someone standing in front of the bars and you lay your head back to look up. 5.0.5’s gentle eyes look down on you with a curious and innocent expression.

    “Hey big guy.” You say quietly and smile. Another shiver shakes you and you quickly rub over your exposed arms, trying to get rid of the goosebumps. A small whine comes from the blue bear and then he suddenly leaves. Probably to mop up your vomit in the torture room. You try to curl even more in on yourself, desperate to keep your quickly dispersing body heat.

Unexpectedly the light gets blocked out again and you lift your head in start. 5.0.5 is stuffing something big through the bars and you quickly stand up to take a better look at it.

It’s a giant blanket.

    “Is that for me? Thank you…” you say, surprised, and help him by pulling on the end he’s already managed to get in. Once you got it, you instantly bundle up in the tattered, pink blanket and sigh happily. 5.0.5 growls merrily and you pet his furry paw through the bars. “Thanks, that’s really nice of you. I feel better already.”

He returns a string of growling noises that somehow come close to talking without any actual words and your smile widens. But then something goes _bump_ in the mansion and 5.0.5 flinches, his small ears suddenly pressed flatly to his head. You quickly move away from the door.

    “Yeah, it’s probably best if you don’t get caught talking to me bud.” You whisper and he gives you a last, commiserative pout before hurrying off. You just hope he doesn’t get in trouble for this, as you already lie down in a clean corner, close to the door, tightly wrapped up in the soft expanse of a blanket clearly made for the bear.

As always, sleep comes easy for you. After two decades under the lash of two violently sporadic, and sporadically violent skeleton mobsters, you’ve learned how to sleep anywhere, under any circumstances while never sleeping deeply enough to not get woken by the smallest of unusual noises. Life insurance and all that jazz.

But you are jerked awake almost instantly from a nightmare, gasping for air and looking around wide-eyed. Nothing there. Exhausted, you sink back down, closing your eyes.

Ten minutes later you shoot back up with a choked sob in your throat. You just can’t get that nightmarish face out of your head! The green fangs, glistening with slobber, seem to take a snap at you every time you close your eyes and you keep thinking the shadows are moving around you, slowly closing in.

    “Fuck… I can’t sleep like this.” You mutter and try to get into a better position on the stone floor, eventually throwing all fucks to the wind and turning your back to the open room, keeping your head ducked into the dark corner. At least now you won’t have to _see_ the thing that is going to kill you in your sleep. And finally, you drift off into something close to a restless slumber.

That’s when Blackhat materializes from the shadows; lean form standing tall in the empty room, he puts on his hat once the black tendrils retreat. His single eye narrows at your curled up frame beneath the pink blanket and he barely suppresses an annoyed growl. Of course that walking failure would succumb to your base charms!

The only thing visible is the back of your head, the crusted wound sticking out to his vision in delicious red. He moves closer, his dress shoes now completely silent on the hard stone floor, and reaches out with one hand, removing the glove with his other. His dark grey skin seems to absorb all the light coming in from the bars in the door as it transforms into long, deadly talons, aiming for your head. But then he just stands there, pauses, as something drips through the void into his mind. A thought, bright but covered in red. Red from fear and rage. Rage from another.

Curious, he tilts his head and closes his eye. The monocle starts to gleam without any light source and his back goes rigid as he allows his own mind to open up to the flood of your hyperactive human brain. It’s been a long time since he’s done this, and the desire to simply reach out and wreak havoc upon your fragile subconsciousness  is almost irresistible, but he reigns himself in and sticks to just listening. At least for now.

The prison cell disappears from his view, dissolves like ink in water as your mind forms a new image around him. A filthy, gloomy office, located in some sort of industrial building, judging from the crumbling red brick walls and the ancient wires taped to the stone. He scowls at the cacophony of odors invading his senses. Mustard - sharp and tangy -, cigars – expensive, Cuban, rich in flavor –, and sweat – human and sweet from fear, coming from the small female next to him. Blackhat turns his head to look down on you.

Your posture is the exact opposite of what your body is telling him: You’re scared. Scared for your life yet you stand tall, as tall as your inferior frame allows, head held high in defiance and pride, eyes narrowed in fury at the source of your mortal fear.

That source being a giant but stout skeleton monster, dressed in a black, golden and red three-piece, fedora on his skull. The wide grin is all sharp teeth, one golden canine flashing in the light of the overhead lamp. A fat cigar is clutched between two skeletal phalanges, red smoke billowing in unnatural patterns around him, enhanced by the monster’s magic.

Now Blackhat really remembers him. His fancy getup was only show to veil the disgusting, classless pig beneath, and he bares his own teeth at the dream figure.

    _“You wanted to see me, boss?”_ you say, the wariness in your voice audible even through the reverberation of your mind's memory. The huge skeleton smirks even wider, putting the cigar between his teeth before exhaling a giant cloud of red smoke that curls around your body like venomous snakes.

    _“yup. i needed to talk to ya. a lil’ birdie told me you been busy.”_ Sans Gaster rumbles, sounding like there’s a good pun in there somewhere. You freeze where you stand, hands balling into tight fists inside your jacket’s pockets. You think about your knives, Blackhat picks up, think about stabbing the pinprick lights from his eye-sockets until the fat monster turns to dust. But instead you shrug, kicking up a bit of dirt with your toed shoe.

    _“ ’s what I do boss-man. Last heist went well, just so you know. Gang’s splitting up the share downstairs already.”_ You reply and he hears the tiny hope in your voice, the desperation to appease the mobster. You know all too well what’s coming. And now Blackhat knows, too. There have been many ‘talks’ that started like this and ended in a bloodbath. Would he beat you to the brink of death this time? He sure was giving off that _vibe_. _“You know me. I’m always a-hustling.”_

But not for much longer. Oh no. You would be the one that broke the cycle, the one that up and left to become their own boss. You would leave the city- hell, leave the bloody country if you had to! And you would make it. You had enough money saved up to go solo from here on. Your _own_ money.

The black cavity of Sans' left eye suddenly fills with a dark, red gleam swirling around the tiny white light as he raises his brow-bones. _“oh? do i really know you though, dollface?”_ he drawls, stretching the _really_ until it sounds like a parody in itself.

The next second the eerie glow in his eye socket condenses into one red and golden flashing eyeball and you try to jump back, but his magic has already trapped your SOUL, pulling you forwards and slamming you face first into the wood of his table and keeping you pinned there without any strain even when you try to push yourself away with both hands and with your feet digging into the ground.

Blackhat’s own eye widens a bit. He’s gotta hand it to the fat mobster. He’s quick despite his enormous frame. Plus, he’s even quicker to punish his subordinates if he even catches a whiff of betrayal. He smirks. Maybe he underestimated the monster.

    _“aww, sweet-cheeks. did ya really think ya coulda fooled me? me? sugar, i may be a **bonehead** but i taught you everthin’ ya know so don’t even think you can fool! **me**!”_ his voice has grown into a full roar by now and he slams his other hand down onto the table, pulling a pained cry from where your ear is still pressed into the wood. _“i know ya been_ stashing _your share of the heists! you think i don’t know what the fuck it is yer plannin’?!”_

Finally, he releases you and you immediately push away from the table, stumbling backwards to get more distance to him. Your nose is bleeding and your eyes spit fire at him. The sight excites Blackhat and he follows the memory with more interest now, a wide grin on his face. Finally you show your true self, an aspiring villain, rising from the position of an insignificant runt to stab her boss in the back. Exhilarating.

    _“Fuck you, Sans!”_ you hiss, now pulling a blade on him after all and wiping the blood off your face with the other. _“I’m done with you bastards! I’m leaving this shithole! But first, I’m making sure you do, too!”_

The full belly-laughter rings too loud in the crammed office. Sans wipes a red tear from the corner of his eye socket, chuckling hoarsely.

    _“ah, shit dollface, ya always crack me up.”_ He snaps his fingers and suddenly the door opens. Two bunny monsters with nasty scars on their faces enter the office, one of them hiding a bat behind his back that Blackhat can see from his position to the side. So that’s how you got the wound on your head.

You wheel around, when the first of them already seizes your arms and the second slaps the knife from your hand. Blackhat scrunches the skin around his mouth. You got _poor_ posture.

You struggle against the hold, but now Sans’ magic is also keeping you in place again. He’s got his elbows casually propped on the desk, hands folded under his round chin and his left eye blazing with magic. A few beads of sweat are running down his face from beneath the rim of his fedora.

    _“ya really wound me, _________, doll. i gave ya a home, gave ya food… and taught ya all i know. an’ this is how you repay me? my most precious bird plannin’ to become my competition?”_ He shakes his head like a disappointed parent, taking another huge drag from the cigar, somehow still between his teeth, before he crushes the butt in his hand and shoots you another wide grin. Both his eye sockets are completely black now.

_“sorry doll but i can’t have ya ruinin' my goddamn business.”_

The bat comes down on your head and the memory ends abruptly.

You shoot up immediately, staring with wide eyes at the wall. The images of your dream are already gone but you can feel eyes on the back of your head. When you whirl around to check, the cell is still empty.

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"Sunday, Bloody Sunday!"


	3. Sleep is for the Weak

_He takes a deep, satisfied breath and chuckles quietly._   
_“Now… that wasn’t so hard, was it?”_   
_You frown at him and cross your arms defiantly in front of your chest, huffing out the breath you held._

 

### 3\. Sleep Is For The Weak

 

 

    The loud clang of keys rattling in the lock of your prison’s door ultimately jerks you from your sleep and you quickly sit up. Your body is stiff from lying on the hard stone and you wince, rolling your aching shoulders against the pain and pulling the blanket up around you when the cold air already threatens to steal the warmth.

Fortunately it’s just Flug, poking his paper-bagged head in. He makes a surprised noise when he spots the blanket that you tighten around your shoulders, wary to keep it.

    “Huh, so that’s where that went…” he says more to himself before he opens the door completely and moves back while gesturing for you to follow him outside. “Come on, the boss said to get you.”

5.0.5 is waiting outside and waves at you, a friendly smile making his eyes twinkle. Your grumpy face immediately lights up and you hand him back his blanket.

    “Thanks bud, this really helped me.” You tell him and he seems more than happy to hear this. You grin at him and quickly follow Flug when he clears his throat impatiently, the blue bear trotting after you, probably still ordered to keep you from doing anything stupid.

Now that you can take a look around the manor, you notice that it’s either really old or just built to give off that feeling of walking through an ancient castle hallway. An ancient castle  _dungeon_ hallway that is, at least on the current floor.

But Flug eventually takes you up a narrow flight of stairs, winding around a stone column. You see that the concrete steps are actually slightly sagged and quickly abandon the thought that this mansion was built any earlier than a few centuries ago.

The next floor however looks a lot more modern and you almost stop in your tracks. The ground is of a sturdy artificial material, often used in factories or big labs and the doors you pass are all electrically locked and made of steel. Some of them have scorch marks around their edges, some others distinct traces of claws. All of them have black and yellow striped tape-rectangles in front of them. You shiver.

    “Sooo…” you try to fill the tensing silence. “Are you developing all your merchandise down here?”

Flug sighs: “Please, no talking. Other than you I didn’t get to sleep this night…” he grumbles and massages the back of his neck where you spot some angry, red marks that suspiciously look like fingers. 5.0.5 makes a miserable noise behind you and you quickly swallow everything else you had kept on the tip of your tongue. Like, whether Blackhat was going to kill you now after all. You just hope he would give you another chance to tell him about your suspicion of Sans’ involvement before he rips you into tiny pieces. After all, if the mobster had been trying to get rid of you by throwing you before the proverbial hounds, it would mean that he had gone behind his arms dealer’s back to do so. If you could just get that into Blackhat’s head, there might be a chance he would also retaliate against the boss monster. And somehow you really, really like that idea.

An elevator takes you up several levels until you’re pretty sure you’re back on the floor you’ve first woken up in. When the doors slide back you are at the end of a long hallway. To your left, a wide staircase leads back down into the heart of the mansion and up to yet another story. At the other end of the hallway you see a tall door made of black wood. You immediately swallow dryly. There’s no doubt that this door leads to Blackhat’s own office. Holy shit. Sans could definitely learn a thing or two about intimidation from him.

Flug however shuffles down the soft carpet, dragging his feet, so clearly exhausted that you feel a bit bad for him. You can’t even imagine what it must be like to live and work with someone that horrible on a daily basis. Not that your life up to now had been all rainbows and sunshine, but it pales in comparison to what he must have gone through. Flug either got mad nerves of steel or he’s simply gone beyond the boundaries of a healthy human mind. Or he just doesn’t care anymore.

The closer you get to the black, iron-framed door, the taller it seems to tower over you and the more cold sweat you produce, only feeding the goosebumps racing over your entire body. Flug sighs heavily once you’ve arrived and waves you to step closer.

     “Lord Blackhat is waiting. Please behave? I don’t want to clean up any blood or corpses today. And… good luck.” Before you can return anything, he’s already knocked on the door and sprints back down the hallway. You watch him leave, envying him.

     “Come in.”

Blackhat’s voice sounds full and threatening despite the casual invitation and you almost trip over your own damn feet trying to get the heavy door to open fast enough. Once inside, you let it fall shut behind you and lean against the cold wood, taking a swift look around.

The room is more massive than the study from last night, over five meters high and completely kept in the dark except for a giant, elliptic window at the opposite side from the door, with red glass and long, crimson curtains, filtering the incoming light in a way that gives the entire office a hellish tint. The rest of the wall is completely empty, safe for a few bookshelves in the far left corner, completely covered in clutter and knickknacks as far as you can tell.

However, the walls to both sides are decorated with paintings, display cases and weapons. You spot a spiked warhammer the size of a grown man, a katana, daggers and even an entire totem pole, although upon further inspection the heads on the pole look like they belonged to mythical creatures and monsters. Real ones.

Your gaze returns to the center and you flinch when you see the single, bone-white eye of Blackhat piercing you from across the room. He’s sitting right in front of the window, behind a huge desk carved from ebony, black top hat sitting perfectly on his skull, framing his eye so that the dark circles beneath are even more prominent in the shadows, however his monocle is gleaming eerily through the darkness as though illuminated by a red headlight. Every inch of him looks impatient enough to tear you apart shouldn’t you get your ass moving _right now_ , so you hastily walk up to the desk, holding your breath and trying to stop your heart from exploding.

Yet the closer you get the more your entire body tries to turn and flee, physically baulking at the idea of walking _towards_ the danger.

And then you’re standing in front of him, stiff as a board and already close to vomiting again, despite not having eaten anything in a day. Blackhat keeps his glare on you and his impatience only seems to grow the longer you’re just standing there.

    “Um… Good morning, Mi- _Lord_ Blackhat, sir!” you immediately catch yourself, fortunately, and he almost looks disappointed but thankfully loses some of his angry tension, going so far as to return your greeting with the tiniest inclination of his head.

    “________.” He returns with a sophisticated wave of his hand and your heart stops for one, two solid beats.

    “H- how do you know my- my name?!” you ask in barely more than a choked whisper and watch in horror how that nasty grin takes up half of his dark face again.

    “Let’s just say I… have my ways of knowing things.” He replies ominously, wiping up invisible dust from his desk with a gloved fingertip. Then his gaze snaps back to your face and darkens. “Sit.”

You obey at once, legs folding together as if he had pressed a hidden button on you. A chair materializes right behind you, where before had not been a single one in the room, except for Blackhat's own high backed chair. If he had wanted a good laugh to start his day off right, he could have simply made you fall on your ass, no problem.

He seems to realize that as well, the way his grin gains a bit more mirth.

Trying to get at least a fraction of your dignity back, you pull yourself together, putting on a smile, and sardonically say: “I hope you slept as well as I did.”

    “I don’t sleep.” Blackhat deadpans, his eye narrowing a bit more again. You squirm in your seat, your smile faltering.

_Oh my god, you stupid idiot why the hell did you even ask?? Of course he doesn’t sleep - he probably doesn’t eat, breathe and exist on the physical plane, either!_

    “Oh, errr… that’s… _useful_?” you stutter, completely falling silent when his grin drops entirely now and his expression turns into a bored, irritated scowl again. You gulp.   

    “Enough with the pleasantries…” Blackhat growls and moves his right hand in a quick circle, producing a blank, old sheet of parchment from nothingness. “I’ve come to the conclusion that you might be more useful to me _alive_ than just dead. To pay off your debt that is.” He announces, opening a drawer of his desk and pulling his hand back with a harsh yank, causing _something_ in the drawer to hiss and snarl loudly at him until he slams it shut with a violent shove. His hand comes up with a long, black and green feather and you stare in horror at the desk. If you had really been on a heist in this mansion, you probably wouldn’t have survived an hour, even with its freakish residents gone.

Blackhat touches the parchment with the freshly plucked quill and black letters start appearing on the yellowed page on their own, quickly filling it from one end to the other with tiny script that you definitely won’t be able to read, not even with a magnifying glass. Hell, not even with a damn microscope! Yet you can’t help but feel that this is looking suspiciously like a _contract_ of sorts.   

    “Ooookayyy…?” you breathe out, casting a doubtful glance up to Blackhat’s face. He looks dead serious about this. _Fuck_.

    “From now on you will work for me, until your debt is paid off.” Blackhat explains, twirling the quill around and sliding both items over the polished wood towards you.

    “And… when will I be _done_ working for you?” you ask hesitatingly and flinch when his hands promptly transform into huge claws, ripping the fabric of his gloves apart and scratching up the expensive wood, and he leans over the desk, nightmarish face on full throttle.

    “Well, when _did you want **to die**_?!” he roars back, foaming at the mouth and a serpent tongue flicking forward while black tendrils shoot out from beneath his blood red dress shirt, one of them wielding a screeching saw blade.

You scream and attempt to jump over the backrest of your chair but the black tentacles shoot at you, quickly wrapping themselves around your torso and the chair, tipping it forward until Blackhat grabs the backrest to spare you from getting slammed face-first into the mangled wood.

His face is barely inches from yours now, green slaver spraying from his teeth - and the extra teeth surrounding his right eye - as he yells at you: “I thought your life meant so much to you and yet here you are, testing _my_ patience, you worthless ingrate! I will get your soul either way, but now it is up to you to choose **_when_**!”

You’re too shocked to cry now, too frightened to do anything but nod and whisper: “O- okay. I’ll do it, I’ll sign, it’s okay just- just please don’t eat me.”

That puts another grin on Blackhat’s demonic face and he lets your chair back down almost gently, returning to his more human form in the blink of an eye. Adjusting his black tie, he grins widely and pushes the contract a little bit closer to you, suddenly perfectly composed again.

    “Just down here, if you would.” He purrs, pointing to a tiny blank space between all the gibberish.

You pick up the quill with shaking fingers, suddenly noticing that there is a perfectly fine quill right there, sitting in an ink pot next to a red skull, and scribble your initials onto the paper. When you’ve drawn the last shaky line and lift the quill off the parchment, the contract starts to float into the air and disappears with a low sucking noise. The horrid quill crumbles into ashes between your fingers and you quickly wipe them on your leggings, your eyes shooting up to Blackhat’s face once more.

He takes a deep, satisfied breath and chuckles quietly.

    “Now… that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You frown at him and cross your arms defiantly in front of your chest, huffing out the anxious breath you've held yourself.

    “So. What kind of work will I be doing for you, _Lord_ Blackhat?” you gripe, angry at yourself, angry at Sans, angry at the whole universe that you’ve ended up in this mess of a situation.

Blackhat just grins even more widely at you, steepling his fingers in front of him.

    “Ohohoho… you’ll see.”   

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"A contract with consequences..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, there's no turning back now I'm afraid! You're in it for the long run :D the last run...


	4. You Don't Own Me

_Blackhat ignores you and stands up from his chair, slowly removing his gloves, stripping his coat and folding it neatly over the armrest. Then he turns to you, rolling up the blood red sleeves of his dress shirt._

 

### 4\. You Don't Own Me

 

 _Great_.

You roll your eyes in spite of yourself, earning another irritated grunt from Blackhat.

Now that you know he’s just out to get your mortal soul, and not in a way a monster would want in order to gain unfathomable powers, but simply to devour it like a choice morsel, it makes you incredibly angry. And you don’t really care anymore when you’re angry.

    “So, does that mean you also decided to believe me that I had absolutely nothing to do with how I ended up in your study?” you ask, slouching down a good bit in your chair to at least get a little more comfortable. Blackhat watches you with an unreadable expression that is not exactly murderous. He looks more like a giant lion, watching an especially brazen mongoose. Like a wolf would regard a hissing stoat. Slightly bemused, but still absolutely going to gulp it down in one bite once he grows bored of the peculiar display.

    “I believe you made a lot of mistakes that led to this point.” He retorts, single eye scrutinizing you before narrowing once more, his mouth twisting in something you might have called peeved. “Plus, you have a really poor stance.”

    “What are you-“ you bristle, but he doesn’t let you finish. Blackhat rises from his tall red chair and briskly walks around the desk, snapping his fingers at you once, twice, until you get the hint and quickly scramble along behind him. Your chair vanishes in a puff of smoke.

You follow him out into the hallway and back to the elevator. For a second you recoil from the idea of being trapped inside the narrow space with him, but the snarl that already rises in his throat has you all but jumping through the open doors, immediately pressing your side into the corner opposite from Blackhat. And of course the way down suddenly seems to be taking ages.

You close your eyes in a futile attempt to calm your nerves, pretty sure that he can hear your heart galloping away in your chest and that he can smell the fear on you like an obnoxious stench.

You don't know that you're right - in a way. Only that, to him, your panicked heartbeat sounds like the _Flight of the Bumblebee_ played on the most magnificent strings and your fear smells like an exquisite perfume. He has to keep every fiber in his forsaken being from mauling you right then and there and just drink up your soul like it's the last drop he will ever get.

No, he is still a gentleman and businessman first and foremost, and a gentleman plays by the rules. And the rules demand he waits. Yet… rules can be _bent_ in business. Especially in his business.

The quiet _ding_ sounds like a dinner bell and you snap your eyes open just in time to watch Blackhat step out of the elevator, completely ignorant to your distress. The gloved hand on his back is curled up in a relaxed manner. _Huh_.

You realize you're not back in the lab, but another hallway similar to the one upstairs. Yet this one has giant red windows covering one entire side, separated by  Greek columns of dark stone and crimson curtains. A few other manors you robbed before had a similar floor. A gallery, devoted to art and riches for display.

Sure enough, the other wall of the curving hallway is plastered with paintings, portraits, ancient looking photographs, schematics and even slabs of engraved stone, covered in strange runes and alien letters. Now you take note of the actual wallpaper, too, that had also been used in Blackhat's office and the corridor leading towards it. It's of a soft grey, curiously enough complementing the complexion of your new boss, but without the pattern the walls in his office had.

Suddenly a particularly old, washed out photograph catches your eye and you stop in front of it, eyes widening at the scene. It's a black and white photography, picturing some ancient train tracks in the middle of the desert – wild west style, so it had to have been taken around 1800-something. A woman is tied to the tracks, the train already less than 20 feet away from her, and next to the tracks…

Your laughter bubbles up unbidden; high and clear it tumbles from your lips, and you still somehow have enough brain cells left to clasp a hand over your mouth and suffocate the worst of it: the shrill squeal that's trying to burst forth and seal your miserable fate for good.

But you can't help it! Blackhat looks too fucking hilarious in his old ass Dracula cape, top hat and galoshes, _twirling_ a long, pencil-thin mustache with two pointy fingers like you always pictured bad guys in the 19th century would have done. And apparently they _did_!

Before you can even remotely recover, a looming shadow falls over you like the silhouette of death herself. You shake your head, fanning yourself, choking down the last fits of giggles with a helpless sob.

    “I'm so- so sorry Lord Bl- Bla _hahahahaaa_!!” It's hopeless. You're hopeless! You won't last a week like this. What am I saying, you'll probably be dead by the end of the day!

It takes a while for your laughter to die down completely, and when it does, dread settles back in almost instantly, crushing your remaining good spirit. Slowly, very slowly, you turn your head until you can look up and over your shoulder, and feel the blood draining from beneath your skin.

Blackhat's visible eye has countless veins standing out in red around his lance-shaped pupil, ready to pop. His mouth is twisted into a proper snarl, fangs glistening with green saliva again. If he had a nose, his nostrils probably would have been flared widely.

 _Shit. Oh shit!_ Now you’re trying to imagine Blackhat with a nose! A long and pointy nose! _Oh God!! This is too much!_

Before he can even say anything, you promptly bow down, taking a quick step away from him so you won't smack your forehead into his waistcoat, hiding your curling lips.

    “Forgive me, Lord Blackhat, that was beneath me.” You whisper, seemingly in fear but you simply cannot speak any louder without giving away your second fit of giggles.

However, you hiss in pain when he buries a hand in your hair and yanks you back up to slam your face into the wall between the paintings. Hot blood spurts from your broken lip as your teeth smash against it.

    “Your former employer really did a poor job training you… or could it be that you enjoy pain so much you can't get enough?” Blackhat growls into your ear, pulling your head back up. You keep your eyes tightly closed, trying to shake your head in his vice-like clutch. Blackhat laughs at your squirming and shakes you like a poor cat he's got by the scruff of its neck.

    “Mwahahahahar! What's that little thief? I don't think I quite caught that…” he jerks you back to bash your face against the wallpaper a second time, with more force, but you somehow manage to raise your arms in time and catch the momentum with your hands. It still hurts like hell inside your wrists but you don't let it show.

    “He tried.” You hiss. To your surprise, the inhumane businessman pauses. “Oooh boy, did he try to _train_ me. But here I am. Still the cocky, insubordinate brat, defying those who kick me into the dust. It’s like I learned nothing.” You fight the hold he still has on your hair to stare into his eye. “Trust me. I'd rather let you break my body before I'll even think about bending to your whim!”

Blackhat's scowl turns into a wide, excited grin.

    “Is that a challenge, perhaps?”

You shrug and spit a mouthful of blood on the floor.

    “Take it as whatever. I've played these games for 20 years. I'm not as fragile as you may think.”

Oh, but you have no idea what you just sparked with your bold statement, what flame you rekindled within this ancient being. He regards you with more interest now, really taking you in for the first time, and already playing out all the kinds of torture and horrors he could wreak on your delicate human frame in his mind. A low, rumbling chuckle escapes his fangs.

    “Well, well… keep surprising me like that, my little thief, and I maybe won't grow tired of you as quickly as I have of my former subjects. You'll make a fine villain one day.”

You make a confused noise but he suddenly releases you, turning away to continue down the hallway. “But enough of this. You've already wasted more of my time than you're worth! Your debt keeps growing with every minute you keep me from work.”

Carefully dabbing at your bleeding lip with a cleaner edge of your shirt, you can't help but snort derisively.

    “What, are you some kind of fancy hooker now, too?”

Blackhat ignores the jab as if he didn’t hear you, yet, concealed from your gaze, his grin widens more. Oh, he will let you shoot your mouth off. He will let you make all the jokes and snarky remarks you want as long as he knows you'll be getting your _check_. And you'll get it soon enough. He almost shivers at the prospect. He can't wait to hear your sweet screams of fear and pain ring through his manor.

A door suddenly swings open in front of you and Blackhat waves you inside with a lenient smile. You don’t like that smile at all. Yet you enter the room and hum when you take a look around.

You're inside a lounge, you think. The wallpaper’s the same as in the hallway, except this one is of a burgundy red and with the strange pattern again, a repeating insignia, almost like a family or company coat of arms. You're not surprised to see it's a black top hat with elegant squiggles and ornaments around it. The design is actually really pretty.

More columns line the expanse of the oval room, as well as a few more paintings, all of Blackhat himself. There's a huge fireplace set in the wall opposite the door, green flames roaring inside, a huge and comfy looking armchair to the side of it. You cross out the _comfy_ part, though, when you discover that the armchair has four clawed crab-legs that actually move. The maroon carpet has golden top hats woven into it and you snort again. The thing with the hats is starting to get a little ridiculous.

The space over the mantle is stuffed with various items, some of them you're itching to take a closer look at, but Blackhat quickly takes up your entire attention again when he walks up to the armchair and sinks down on the plush cushion. Now you realize that there's no second chair around again, and apparently he’s not going to conjure one up for you either. The only thing you spot is a giant, tattered dog bed. Probably for 5.0.5.

    “Sit.” Blackhat says and you shrug.

    “I'd rather stand this time if you don't mind.” Is your sassy reply. He does. You can see it in the way his mouth immediately drops into a scowl. He's surprisingly open with his facial expressions, you note. You would have expected him to be a bit more secretive and poker faced. Mysterious. Now you're starting to think that he simply has no interest in little mind-games to trick you into a false sense of security. That makes him somewhat less of a bastard than Sans.

    “You know they say that pride cometh before the fall.” There's a clear warning in his voice but you've had quite enough of being tossed around by him.

    “Yeah well, there's a difference between choking on your pride and just refusing to be treated like a bitch!” you snap back at him and watch with rising anger how his grin returns, sardonic this time.

    “Are you implying that you weren't one?”

Before you can stop yourself, you've crossed the few feet between you and him and slammed your hands into the armrests of his chair, leaning down closely to his ashen face.

    “Listen here, _Lord_ Blackhat! If you must know, I have never participated in something as vile as letting myself be forced to sell my body to the scum of this earth!” you hiss at him, infuriated when your blatant disrespect doesn't even seem to bother him. Instead, he scrunches the skin above his mouth again.

    “I don’t want to know. In fact, I don’t _care_ who or what you did before you came here. Now you work for _me_ and that privilege comes with certain prerequisites…” he lifts his left hand, glowing red, his grin turning evil again and you jump back in apprehension but too late: the invisible hand closes around your throat and you gasp, trying to get as much air into your lungs as possible before he can truly strangle you.

    “Mwuahahahahar! Did you honestly just try to _dodge_?” he’s positively shaking with laughter. “Oh, you'll never learn…”

 _What the hell?_ You think, perplexed. He couldn't possibly know about Sans' somewhat similar powers, right? He couldn't even remember him at first!

Surprisingly enough, the choking force from the night before doesn't come. It's more like he's merely holding you in place; your feet aren't even off the floor.

    “W-what… are you, ngh… doing?” you croak out, trying fruitlessly to fight his magic. Blackhat ignores your struggle and rises from his chair, slowly removing his gloves, stripping his coat and folding it neatly over the armrest. Then he turns to you, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Your eyes widen in sudden terror. The dark skin of his arms seems to surge and move constantly, making you sick from looking for too long. For a horrible second you think he'll take off his hat too, but it stays on as he steps over to the fireplace.

Now you realize that the fireguards at the top and bottom of the hearth are made from dark spikes of steel, making it suddenly look an awful lot like a burning mouth full of sharp teeth. Something is sticking out of the flames, a metal rod not unlike a poker. Blackhat grabs it, apparently not feeling any heat, and pulls out a branding iron. The tip is glaringly white from the fire but you can still make out the top hat silhouette in the middle.

Now you fight his invisible grip in earnest, kicking at him until he also seizes your legs with his powers. He approaches you slowly, cruel eye fixed on your face that is being reflected in his monocle, drinking in your growing panic. You can smell the red-hot iron and try to get further away from it. It's no use.

    “Please!” you finally choke out, your stomach doing flips. “No! No, no, no _please_ don't, Lord Blackhat! Please, I-"

He shuts you up by pressing a glowing finger to his lips and shushing softly, before stalking around you, his free hand dancing over your left shoulder and then the small of your back, as if he was pondering where his brand might be best to place. You contort under his vile touch, breathing out another hoarse plea.

    “My, my, you're begging already?” He clucks his tongue in disappointment. “You're all bark and no bite, tiny thief. Now hold still or I'll have to mark you again if this first one turns out skewed.”

You sob out loudly when you feel his cold, leathery hand pushing the hem of your shirt up, up, all the way, until you shiver in the air that's somehow freezing cold despite the fire. In the last second, you jerk your arms down and backwards, hitting _something_ , judging by his infuriated sound, but in the next heartbeat slick, black tendrils wrap tightly around your arms and pull them back in place.

Blackhat closes in on you once more, sliding his free arm around your neck. He’s so close now that your back would touch his stomach if you could move at all, yet it is exactly that proximity that causes you to keep stock-still, like a hare between the fangs of a wolf, expecting the lethal bite.

    “You should consider yourself lucky… you're one of three people that get to be part of my organization for _free_.” He rounds into your ear, pressing the hot iron into your back without as much as a warning and you scream, scream until you think you're going to die from the lack of oxygen but this is a pain unknown to you and it demands you scream more!

Even Blackhat's raucous laughter gets drowned out by your agonized cries. Yet you can still hear it even after you're already passed out.

-

You go limp in his power's clutches, the dead weight of your body an exhilarating invitation, and it would be oh so easy for him to do all kinds of gruesome things to you and watch your reaction upon waking, but he resists. _All good things come to those who can wait,_ the familiar text of his favorite musical echoes in his mind and he immediately hums along to the tune, letting you drop to the ground without a care.

Blackhat moves towards the side-table next to his armchair, and the phonebot that sits there comes to life instantly, scuttling around in one spot on its little crab-legs. Yet it cowers down when its master picks up the receiver and dials the internal number of the room Flug is currently in with his mind.

It rings once, twice and he's already in a much worse mood when the call eventually gets picked up with a lot of fumbling and cursing and paper crinkling and then the doctor's breathless voice: “L-Lord Blackhat, sir, I- what can I do for you?!”

He smirks.

    “Sleeping on the job, doctor?” he chuckles and laughs fully when he can feel Flug's fear seeping through over the aether.

    “N-No! Of course not my liege! I- I'd never dream of it.” He sputters in a panic.

    “Shut up, idiot.” Blackhat growls. “Come up to the lounge. And bring a kit. Our newest _asset_ requires your medical expertise.”

    “R- right away, sir.”

He hangs up and turns, regarding your unconscious form. Hair spilling from the inconspicuous bun you've been hiding it in, face still twisted in pain. Something had piqued his curiosity before and he kneels next to you, lifting up your black shirt once more. It's grown soft from years of wear, but he's more intrigued by the countless marks on your skin that it conceals.

Cuts, gnarled scars, indentations left from bruises hard enough to destroy your connective tissue, cigar burns, leaving bumps that will never heal. You sure as hell weren't exaggerating when you said you had been through worse. His crisp branding under your right shoulder blade makes for a fitting addition, he thinks and circles the angry, red skin around your burnt flesh with a finger, taking a deep breath to let the aroma caress his tongue.

But before he can indulge any further, a knock on the door disturbs his private moment and he grunts, annoyed.

When Flug cautiously opens the door, Blackhat is his usual, horrible self, one hand on his back, the other gesturing dismissively to the passed out thief. The scientist smells the stench of burnt flesh immediately and, sure enough, there’s the familiar sight of the branding iron he’s gotten to experience on his own body all those years ago.

 _Poor thing…_ , he thinks and clears his throat, shuffling inside and quickly closing the door behind him. No need to get Dementia excited over nothing. Or his precious boy overly upset. 5.0.5 seems to have taken a liking to the young woman, but Flug is afraid that she will have to wait and recuperate a bit first before she can try the bear’s fresh batch of honey pancakes.

Trying to keep his own mouth from watering at the thought of delicious pancakes, Dr. Flug kneels down next to the unconscious woman and pulls a sterile pair of medical gloves over the yellow rubber ones he’s already wearing. Yet despite his layers of protection, he can still feel the burning glare from _him,_ skinning away shell after shell until Flug is bared in all regards before his unearthly gaze. Yet, it’s not nearly as bad as without his gear.

Flug shakes his head briefly, focusing back on the task at hand. He doesn’t appreciate being torn away from his overdue projects, least of all for something as trivial as this, but it was Blackhat who ordered him and he still wants to keep on living a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blackhat: Talk dirty to me...  
> Reader: 25% off on all merchandise~  
> Blackhat: *sobbing* oh God stop!
> 
> I'll change the rating to Explicit, figured there's just too much violence going to go down on our poor reader q-q


	5. Charmed, I'm sure

_“Um… are those really necessary, doc?” you ask, giving the restraints a yank. The screen comes to life behind him in glaring white, leaving his silhouette starkly contrasted while his goggles gleam in the light again, and now you shiver from unease._

 

###  5. Charmed, I'm Sure

 

 

You fight their hold, furry hands mercilessly seizing your arms. Your knife! You've lost your knife.

_“sorry doll. but i can't have ya ruinin' my goddamn business.”_

Gleam from a single golden canine tooth, you've been found out. How? How did he find out?! The only one who could have known…

The bat comes down on the back of your head and you jerk, suddenly awake. The last thought slips from your mind like a shadow on the wall, but the rest stays and now you know more than the first time you woke from your memory, lying face down in Blackhat's study.

Sans had found out that you were preparing to leave the gang! And of _course_ he would kill you for betraying him like that. The question is: why didn't he just off you himself? Why risk Blackhat's wrath when he could have disposed of you much easier and without the chance, though may it be an unlikely one, of you surviving your encounter with the demonic businessman?

You figure there's still more to your dilemma than you had thought at first and that getting to the bottom of it all won't be easy.

But that's when the rest of your body comes to as well, and with it a blazing pain in your back! Clenching your teeth and burying your face in the crook of your arm, you try to recall what happened, hissing out loudly when you eventually remember. Right, the branding iron. The pain is still growing worse and after a few minutes of attempting to ignore it, you groan in agony, trying your hardest not to move around on your stomach, but you also need to breathe, thus every rise of your ribs is like a poke into the fresh wound.

Until someone _actually_ pokes the burnt spot right under the hem of your sports bra and you shoot up, screaming out at the pain.

    “What the fuck is _wrong_ with you people?!” you cry hoarsely, crawling away on your hands and knees from whoever is next to you, tears in your eyes.

    “Oops.” A girlish voice chirps, dripping with sarcasm and venom. “I thought you were already dead. My bad.”

With shaking limbs you struggle to turn around on the examination table until you can sit up and stare at Dementia, your back a single ocean of fire by now.

    “Fuck you!” you hiss through the tears with one of your better death-glares, merely earning another insane cackle from her. Well, you guess she’s got the name for a reason.

You eye her, involuntarily letting your gaze linger as you become aware of the chaos presenting itself to you.

Dementia is tall, maybe a little smaller than Flug but definitely taller than you. The most distinctive feature is, without a doubt, her bright green mass of matted hair that's being kept somewhat contained by a green hood with horned lizard eyes attached to it, while the rest of her enormous, unkempt mane reaches all the way down to the ground, so long she can probably wrap herself up in it. More than once.

Yet her bangs are dyed a shockingly bright red, falling wildly into her face that's surprisingly pretty, even with the black painted eyes – one of her irises standing out unusually wide in vibrant yellow. Her clothes are entirely punk-rock, dark top and black skirt, black leather gloves and red and black striped sleeves and pants, her right pant leg torn off above her knee...

    “Hey, what are you staring at?!” Dementia snaps in sudden irritation, making you quickly look back up. She's baring her teeth at you and you notice the long, sharp fangs poking over her bottom lip. You also notice that her left ear isn't heavily pierced like her right one, simply because there's a bite-sized and -shaped piece of it missing. You immediately wonder who had managed to accomplish _that_.

    “I'm staring at you.” You reply, unfazed by her anger. “I didn’t get a good look at you before. You know, when you body-slammed me last night?”

Dementia snorts at the memory, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

    “You didn't even hear me sneaking up on you!” she mocks you and you can't help but bristle at that blow to your pride. You really are more than infuriated that she had managed to catch you off-guard! As a thief, you had worked hard, developing your senses to be above the human norm; some of the gang members had even called you Ghost at one point because you kept scaring them with your sudden appearances and a few of them were convinced that you had superpowers. You always moved silently and were used to picking up the faintest of noises around you as well. So, being snuck up on by someone as undisciplined and _crude_ as her, not to mention _loud_ in every regard… it made you question your own abilities.

    “Mhmm, yeah since it's such a big deal, jumping someone who's suffering from a concussion!” You gripe, grinning when her eyelid starts to twitch at your jab.

    “Says the giant _crybaby_ , who faints from a _widdle_ bit of pain!” she mocks right back and now you sit upright, clenching your fists.

    “The fuck did you just say?!”

Dementia pulls a spiked mace from somewhere inside the chaos of her hair and cowers, ready to throw down.

    “Cry. _Baby_.” She hisses, manic excitement in her yellow eyes.

Before you can jump off the table, and, in hindsight, probably get really messed up by that _punkass_ bitch, strong but unbelievably soft paws wrap around your middle, pulling you away from the cackling girl.

    “Ey!” you protest, trying to pull the bear-arms apart. “Let go off me! I’ll rearrange her _face_!”

5.0.5 whines in distress, pulling you completely off the ground and closer to his furry body, keeping you there until you stop kicking and struggling and simply slump in his paws, but keep glaring daggers at Dementia, who sticks out her tongue at you, leaning on the pommel of her mace.

 _If I still had my knives, she wouldn't be gloating for long…_ you think. Although, maybe you're wrong about that, too. Blackhat apparently keeps her around for a reason. Taking a wild guess, she has to be the brawn while Flug's the brain, obviously.

Said brain enters the lab just then, immediately stomping on the ground with a squeaking converse and rubber-gloved fists clenched at his sides.

    “What the- dammit Dementia, I told you a thousand times to stay out of the lab! Now get out, before I call the Hatbots!” he sounds more annoyed and exasperated than really angry and you figure it must be a frequent problem with her. “I also told you to leave ________ alone! She still has a debt to Lord Blackhat and needs to recuperate before she can get to work, you maniac!”

Dementia pouts, pointing an accusing finger at you.

    “It's not fair! Why does she deserve to get branded by _my_ honey-bun?! It should be _me_ wearing his mark!” she's close to screaming now and you can only stare at her in shocked silence.

 _Her… honey-bun??!_ There's only so much mental strength you can exert, being in such pain, to not just throw up. So you hadn't been imagining her dreamy giggling the night before.

    “You uh… you're in love with the big boss?” you ask tentatively and her eyes snap back to you, narrowing in jealousy.

    “And _he_ is in love with _me_ you whiny baby-thief! You don’t deserve his mark, he's _mine_!” she yells at you and you raise your hands defensively from where they're still pinned to your sides by 5.0.5’s restraining-hug.

    “Hey, shit, it's fine I get it! I actually think you're _perfect_ for each other, I'm not about to steal your man, no fucking way!” You assure her quickly. You don’t need a jealous brat on top of all the shit on your plate now, too.

Dementia's face lights up at your words, while Flug flinches behind her, frantically shaking his hands in a stopping motion. _Oopsie_.

    “Right?? He's my big bad handsome man…” Dementia exclaims, clasping her hands together with a love-smitten sigh. You really, really want to vomit, but manage an encouraging nod instead.

    “That's enough, Dementia, shoo!” Flug interrupts the two of you, his brows furrowed behind the tinted glass of his goggles, and pulls a remote from his lab coat’s pocket, waving it warningly at Dementia.

   “Yeah, yeah whatever _nerd_. I'll go look for my hubby and leave you two nerds to your nerd-stuff, neeerd!” she taunts, skipping out of the lab. But then she pokes her head in through the door again, shooting you a toothy grin. “Oh, you can call me Dem, by the way, puny thief. See ya!” And with that the door mercifully slides shut, muffling her insane laughter.

5.0.5 finally lets you slip out of his arms and onto the floor and you turn around to him, giving him a half-hearted glare.

    “Don't you dare to hold me back next time, bud… someone should teach that brat some manners.” You grouse, quickly petting his furry arm with a soothing coo when his expression turns sad. “Oh! N- no, it's okay, I know you were just worried, please don't be upset!”

Flug lets out a tired groan and walks over to you, pocketing the remote again.

    “Did you _have_ to encourage her? Let's just hope our master doesn't find out it was you… plus, I'm pretty sure 5.0.5 saved your life just now. If you couldn’t even get out of his grasp you're definitely no match for _her_. She's… she can get pretty dangerous when she's angry.” He admits, turning you around to inspect the branding on your back.

Now you actually realize your shirt is _missing_ , but thankfully Flug left you your sports bra, so you're not completely naked from the waist up. He lifts the loose bandage he's wrapped around your torso while you were unconscious and you shiver when the cold air of the laboratory wafts over your maltreated flesh, hissing out a breath.

    “Wait… Blackhat told me I'm one of three people who've gotten this branding. If Dementia isn't one of them…” you let your sentence peter out, hoping the doctor might fill you in. But no dice, he just applies a salve over the mark and tucks the bandage back into place, making you wince.

    “This special healing salve I developed myself will allow you to heal much quicker than normally. In the meantime you're going to educate yourself on our organization. It's important that you know our policies and credo before you do any important work for Lord Blackhat. We can't have you ruining our good reputation.” He explains, raising a finger like a teacher while he waves you to follow him deeper into the lab.

You roll your eyes behind his back.

    “Wouldn't dream about it, doc.” You mutter, wrapping your arms around your body. “Hey, can I have my shirt and jacket back now at least?”

Flug stops and gives you a confused look, before apparently noticing your bared upper body.

    “Oh. Err, yes, of course. Well, I already put your shirt into the laundry but I got your jacket right here. Hold on…” he walks over to a giant workstation and opens a drawer. “You weren't lying,  it's completely empty.”

You exhale in relief when you see that your black leather jacket is still in one piece and snatch it from his hands, quickly slipping into it. The soft, familiar smell of leather and your own scent caresses your nose like a happy greeting and you immediately feel more like yourself again, scanning your surroundings more alertly while gathering your hair back into a tight bun.

The lab is completely built from steel, titanium and chrome, filled to the brim with all kinds of workstations, lasers, giant machinery and desks. More or less motivational cat-posters, schematics and blueprints cover the walls; you notice a lot of screens and even a few shelves full of indoor-greenhouses and huge tanks that house strange flowers with _eyes_. And while it's somewhat organized, you instantly notice tons of stuff just lying about.

You whistle through your teeth, honestly impressed.

   “Wow… and you work here alone?” you ask in disbelief. You can hardly imagine that only one person uses this space. And while Dementia is obviously not allowed in here, as countless warning signs confirm, you highly doubt that 5.0.5 might be of any real help. You know, being a bear and what not.

Flug clucks his tongue in reproach.

   “Yes, yes, and I still have a ton of work to do today so come on.” He chides you and you walk along behind him, waving at 5.0.5 when he leaves through the same door Dementia did before.

“But I must say, your jacket is a very well-crafted piece, even if it's obviously _DIY_. I'm sure I could make you an even better one.” He drones on, gesturing around with his hands.

    “Oh, you know, I'm completely fine with this one, doc. Sentimental value and all that. I have this jacket longer than I can even remember. And as old as it may be…” you silently move to the side, closer to one of the tables and swipe a few useful items he won't even miss, stashing them inside some of the hidden spaces in your sleeves and the inner lining of your modified pockets. “… it's never failed me in my work.  Until last night that is.” You actually chuckle at the irony.

    “Well, let's hope that the orientation videos will teach you how to not get yourself into such a pickle ever again.” Flug comments, confirming your suspicion.

Sure enough, he leads you through a few other sliding doors until you enter a dark room with a lot of screens hanging side by side on the wall and an uncomfortable looking chair in front each of them. You take note of the big metal cuffs on the armrests and quickly shift one of the items from your pocket into your sleeve without a sound, securing it with the ball of your hand.

Flug turns around to you and makes an inviting gesture towards the row of chairs.

    “Go ahead, you can pick a seat today.” He snickers as if it's the funniest joke ever and you force a laugh yourself, sinking on one of the wooden seats, grimacing at the hard chair.

    “Can I get some snacks while I watch? I’m starving.” You complain but Flug shakes his head, already taking your arm to fetter your wrist to the armrest.

    “I'm sorry, but that would be a bad idea. The salve requires you to be fasted in order to work without any side effects. And to be honest, some of the footage might not exactly be appetizing and I don't want 5.0.5 to have to clean up any more of your vomit.” He explains, educing a disappointed sigh from you as you flex your hands against the restraints. They're pretty tight but the locking mechanism is ridiculously simple.

    “Um… are those really necessary, doc?” you ask, giving them an experimental yank. Flug turns around as the screen comes to life behind him in glaring white, leaving his silhouette starkly contrasted while his goggles gleam in the light again, and now you shiver from unease. Holy shit, he can be creepy if he wants to.

    “Well, we need you to watch everything. Or… _hear_ it at least.” He snickers again, patting your shoulder. “Now sit back, relax and let your grey matter absorb all the essential knowledge only members of our organization get the privilege to experience. I’ll come and get you when I'm finished with my latest project.”

With that he leaves and the heavy door falls shut. You grin when the final click doesn't come, which means that the piece of tape you  placed over the lock when you came in has done its job. Now all you need to do is get out of this chair and not get caught by Blackhat. You're pretty sure you can get past Flug and 5.0.5 unnoticed  – hell, probably even Dementia when she's not in hunting-mode – but you'd rather not run into your new eldritch boss when you're supposed to get brain-washed.

Time for a good ol' prison break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, I had a pretty shitty day so have another chapter! Don't hesitate to comment with literally whatever!
> 
>  **Edit:** Next chapter up on Sunday 9th!!🎩


	6. The Sweet Escape

_Blackhat puts his splayed hand over the crown of your head, tilting it back a little further and your skin explodes into goosebumps when your lizard brain tells you that he could crush your head with just a bit more pressure._

 

### 6\. The Sweet Escape

 

 

It takes you a little while to dismantle the ballpoint pen you stole with one hand, partly because you keep pausing to stare at the screen - half amused, half in disbelief and half in absolute horror at what Blackhat seems to consider to be an appropriate orientation video - before you snap out of it and get back to work.

Finally you're done and carefully pull out the tiny spring supporting the pen's reservoir, letting the rest drop to the floor. You might pick it back up later, but this is all you need for now. It takes another five minutes to smooth out the tight coils in the spring and then fold the resulting metal wire a few times to create an improvised, angled lock pick. Now for the hard part…

Turning your hand palm-up, you hold the lock pick between two fingertips and contort your wrist until the end sinks into the small lock on top of the shackle.

After pushing it around in the metal shackle’s lock for a few minutes, straining your ears over the noise of the TV, the handcuff springs open with a snap. You cheer quietly to yourself and move your overstrained wrist around to stretch it out.

The left handcuff comes off in less than a minute and soon you bounce around on the spot, trying to get the circulation back into your poor legs. The new lock pick wanders into the hidden pocket at the very edge of your sleeve's inner lining, where your old set of picks used to be and where you can get it out even with your hands bound to your back.

You sneak to the door and stop for a moment to listen with your eyes closed. Nothing.

Opening the door a tiny slit, you pull out the pair of scissors you snatched, using one of the reflective sides as a mirror. It's not perfect, but you can at least see that the hallway is empty. There's nothing you can do against eventual security cameras, but you didn’t really spot any on your way to this room anyway.

You'll just have to be quick.

You don't close the door all the way, you're planning to return to the TV room. The only problem would be if Flug decided to quiz you about the orientation videos afterwards. But then again you could always just say that you fell asleep.

The supple soles of your jika-tabi-shoes* allow you to move without a sound, giving you the upper hand when it comes to stealth. And nobody moves stealthily in the security of their own home. Which is why you hear Dementia stomping down the hallway on the ground floor from a literal mile away.

You scale one of the columns lining the hall, pressing your back into a corner, wrapping one arm around the stone pillar and using the scissors as a makeshift icepick to stick to the wall. Dementia storms along beneath you, grumbling under her breath, dragging her mace over the floor behind her. Seems like her _hubby_ wasn't in the mood.

Only when the loud scraping sound of mace on hardwood-floor subsides do you dare to lithely drop to the ground, looking both ways before rounding the next corner.

You exhale in relief when you realize you've found the front hall and the main entrance. Yet you quickly discover that it's hooked up to an internal alarm-system.

    “Shit!” you hiss and press against the wall next to the door, racking your brain about how the hell you're going to get out of here now. And, more importantly, back _in_ without anyone noticing.

Suddenly you feel a draft, coming from somewhere across the massive front hall, carrying an amazing smell of homemade pie that makes your mouth water despite your precarious situation. But a draft could mean an opened window you can use.

So you quickly cross the hall, round the corner and follow the arching corridor until you find an open door leading you to a big kitchen. You barely have time to slip around the door and press into the corner behind it, using the dark wood as a shield. 5.0.5 hums happily and you hear him putting kitchenware into the sink before leaving the room, pulling the door shut behind him and exposing you to the open. Luckily, you're now completely alone and have on top of that found your cat-door.

The bear has left one of the small windows open, a fresh pie standing on the sill to cool off and you quickly prepare the window's lock with another piece of tape before you pick up the cake, climb over the sill and place it back down safe and sound. Then you let go off the sill and drop to the ground.

Dried grass crumbles under your feet and you turn around to look up along the wall of the manor. The outside is completely black and you're currently being shielded from prying eyes in the upper floors by an artistic wall, curving up and above in a concave slope. Wow, Blackhat must've built a more modern looking structure on top of the foundation of an ancient castle then.

 _Unimportant_. You cower down and dash downhill, from dried out foliage to shrubby bush, always stopping once in cover to listen for suspicious sounds. The sky is darkening already, not uncommon for October, but it makes you wonder just how long Blackhat's branding iron has put you out of commission for. When you had been in his office the red glass of the window had altered the light from outside, and with the sky still being overcast like this from the storm the night before, it is impossible to estimate the right time. Plus, you still don’t know where you _are_ exactly. Sans' territory in South City was right on the coast, his own base located on the waterside in an abandoned warehouse complex. But you can faintly smell the salty ocean air, so the sea must be close by.

You look down your torso, bare below the sports bra. It's not exactly cold for this time of year, and if you zip up your jacket nobody will see the conspicuous scars and marks on your upper body.

A minute later you vault over the spiked fence and onto the sidewalk, quickly throwing another checking glance over your shoulder.

    “ _Auuugh_ you gotta be kidding me…” You groan, your mouth going slack.

Blackhat's manor isn't a castle. And it is definitely not a modern ode to architecture either. It's a black top hat. Literally.

You can even see the gallery from down here. The long, curving hallway of red windows builds the red hatband, the concave slope from just now is actually the elegant brim of the hat. Fortunately you've gotten out at the side of the manor where you can't see the giant elliptical window of Blackhat's office, so that's a relief.

What's really catching your eye though is the crashed airliner, sticking out of the hat's roof right above you! It looks pretty old and you immediately wonder how the hell it got there and who had crashed it into the mansion. And why the fuck nobody had bothered to remove it.

 Turning away, you look around and realize that the hat-house is built in the middle of a huge plaza, on top of a tiny hill which confirms your former-castle theory further. A road runs all the way around it and the sidewalk you're standing on is circling the perimeter of BH's lair like his own private walkway. The rest of the suburban  district looks like it'd been erected either after your new boss built this monstrosity of a mansion, or had to make way for its construction. In any case, every other house seems to be keeping a cautious distance to the solid black structure with the crimson windows and straight up _dead_ lawn.

You dust off your jacket and start jaywalking over to the other side. Well it's not exactly jaywalking - there's nobody else out, not even a car. You soon begin to feel like this town's neighborhood might be exactly as creepy as Blackhat and his organization.

    “Still, I need to find out where I am and get some gear.” You mumble to yourself, flipping the dark grey hood over your head to hide your face. Yet you automatically keep track of every curious landmark and building to find your way back later. Passing a manhole, you recognize the black top hat symbol engraved into the cover and flinch, eyes widening. This town wasn't just built to accommodate an infamous villain… it was most likely built _by_ him. Or at least his business attracted enough people to turn this land into a town.

 _A ghost town if you ask me…_ , you think to yourself, the thought of talking out loud suddenly appearing like a risk you don’t feel like taking.

Your first important place to go is a kiosk or a gas station or something else where you can get information about where you are, what's around you and how you could get back to South City. The next would be an electronics store to get a phone and a watch. The third… a black market outpost or local fence to get some more specialized items. Yet you doubt that anyone would risk running that sort of business right under Blackhat's proverbial nose. But then again you've been surprised before by the ingenuity of your trade's guild.

However, you're not trying to run away, hell no! You're dead sure that Blackhat could find you anywhere without even knowing where the fuck you went, and you don’t intend to peace out on your debt to him either. Yes, you are a thief, a lying con-artist and a lowlife hood, but deep inside you are _honest_ and you have principles, like paying your dues and returning favors. And besides, you apparently cheated death once already so you don’t really feel like kicking the bucket now.

 

-

 

The streets stay abandoned but at least a few cars have driven past you, so you know now that there must be actual people living here. You've wandered deeper into the town, closer to the skyscrapers you had seen in the distance, and by now your hopes of soon finding any sort of normal store are dwindling rapidly.

You're already thinking about turning around and hurrying back to the manor, when a tiny street booth kiosk catches your eye and you run up to it, your face lighting up when you see a living person sitting inside. It's an elderly man with a tattered barracks cover on his head, cigarette between cracked teeth.

    “Hello!” you greet, relieved, and walk up to the counter, removing your hood for friendliness points. Still, the old-timer eyes you with blatant suspicion.

    “Can I help ya, Miss? You’s not from ‘round here, huh?” he rasps, his voice sounding like he's smoked at least two packs of cigarettes a day since he was nine. But you smile shyly despite his distrust and shrug helplessly, your con-artist instincts kicking in flawlessly.

    “You've got me there, sir. I'm terribly lost. I don’t even know what town I'm in! I’ve been walking for hours, my boyfriend kicked me out of his car after we had a fight, and- and I left my bag and everything in his car a- and…” It's not even that hard to summon your tears this time; just feeling the throbbing pain in your back is enough to open the flood-gates. In a beat you're crying openly in front of a total stranger and you don't even care.

He nudges you with a hand and you take the offered tissue with a grateful nod and a sniffled thanks.

    “Issa rough world, kiddo, ‘m sorry. But I can't give ya no money, I haveta care for mahself too, y'know?” he grumbles and you quickly shake your head with a shocked expression.

    “Oh- oh goodness, no, I- I just need some directions, sir, that's all! If you have a map or something, that would be more than I could ask for!” you reassure him sweetly. That seems to appease the old geezer and he turns away to rummage around for a map underneath the counter.

That's when you make your move, snatching one of the ancient looking phone booth cards he's selling out of a rack. The racks are all pretty filled up so he won't notice one missing. A chocolate bar wanders into your food-pocket, this and that, and lastly you manage to grab a lighter before he comes back up.

You blow your nose into the tissue and fan the tears away, apparently still trying to calm down. He unfolds the street map over the counter and you almost laugh out loud in disbelief.

    “This… this town is really called _Hatsville_?” you ask, hoping he'll interpret your choked up voice as crying rather than trying not to laugh. The kiosk owner gives you a haunted stare.

    “Have ya… have ya _seen_ it?” he asks in a frightened whisper. You know immediately what he's talking about and nod with wide eyes.

    “You mean the big house that looks like a black top hat? Yeah I've walked past it, it looks scary!”

He trembles in the mild autumn air.

    “Ya better leave this town first chance ya get, missy. Bad stuff's happenin' here. Sweet thing like yerself shouldn't be out in these streets at night. Now lessee here…”

You listen only with half an ear, having already analyzed the map and its legend. The shops you can possibly pay a visit to are few and far between. You'll have to risk multiple of these escapes if you want to gear up and get back at Sans for almost killing you. You could still try and get Blackhat to off the mobster for you in a fit of rage. But if Sans continues to buy his merchandise, it wouldn't be exactly _profitable_ for BH to murder one of his customers.

_Seems like I'll have to do it myself…_

And for that you're going to need money. You can't possibly steal _all_ of the items you need without any of your old gear and backup and not get caught. And then there's still the issue with getting back home.

    “Um, do you know where South City is in relation to here? That's kinda where I need to go.” You ask the kiosk vendor and he raises two bushy eyebrows, so high they almost touch the rim of his barracks covers.

    “ _South City_? Honey, I dunno where ya from but I ain't know nothin' ‘bout no South City anywhere on this darn island. Ya sure ya know where ya need t' go?” He suddenly seems more distrusting again, scrutinizing you like you're out of your mind.

    “Wh- what? _Island_?! There's no… what _country_ am I in then, exactly?” you breathe and now he bends down to get a huge, dusty world atlas. But you already know, soon as you see the world map printed onto the cover, that something is very, _very_ wrong.

You don't recognize any of those continents.

    “One _Hatsville News_ , please.” You hear a grating, but unmistakably amused voice rasp behind you and freeze on the spot, your body going rigid when Blackhat places a hand on the small of your back, thumbing over the edge of your hidden branding that has begun to pulse and pucker at his mere presence.

The kiosk owner turns white as a sheet, hand fumbling frantically for one of the newspapers, throwing it on the counter and simply dropping the heavy book to scoot as far away from you as he possibly can. His face is a waxy mask of pure, unadulterated fear and he stumbles into a back part of the kiosk as soon as Blackhat takes the newspaper and chuckles menacingly at the closing door.

    “Such a polite man; never asked me for a single dime in his life.” You hear the telltale _click_ of his cane and pull up your shoulders against any incoming swings. When none come your way, you turn around slightly, slipping cautiously away from the touch of his gloved hand.

    “L- Lord Blackhat… I can ex-, I was going to return once I-" you stutter and stammer, always thinking your next word is going to be the trigger that sets him off. Yet he just turns to face you, his wide grin gone for a change, replaced by a bored expression that turns annoyed when you don’t get to the point.

    “Quit your whimpering, you're not Flug.” He barks, making you wince. The cane dissolves into smoke and he steeples his hands in front of him and gesturing towards you. “I admit, it was quite entertaining to watch you make your escape. As pathetic as you first seem, you do possess a certain set of skills that would make for a fine villain.”

Again with that phrase. But something else catches your attention far easier and you relax a little, be it only out of sheer disbelief.

    “You- you're not mad at me, sir?” you carefully probe and the scowl turns into a slight snarl.

    “I'm always mad at the lot of you _primates_ …” he growls, pinching the bridge of his non-existent nose. “No. If I had not wanted you to get as far as you did, you would not have made it out of Flug's lab to begin with. That should teach the idiot doctor, to rely on such backwards security measures…” He drops his hands again, crossing one arm onto his back and taking a step to close the distance between you, placing his free hand on your shoulder and turning you around. You don't dare to move away this time. There is purpose in his touch and you briefly feel the entire, unearthly strength that's hidden in the grip of his fingers beneath the black gloves.

Your eyes travel down the street, over the rows of houses, and stop when you realize you can still see the roof of the black top hat mansion even from here. Blackhat puts his splayed out hand over the crown of your head, gripping it lightly to tilt it back a little further and your entire skin explodes into goosebumps. You shiver when your lizard brain tells you that he could crush your skull with just a bit more pressure. But what you see then is enough to make you forget the horrible being beside you.

There's something wrong with the sky right above the hat. It's darker there, almost green, and the clouds seem to swirl into spirals, as though there was a drain in the middle of the sky. Thankfully, Blackhat releases your precious skull in order to snap his fingers. From one second to the next the previously grey sky turns a purgatorial red and violet. Dark, giant shadows lurk behind the greenish clouds and there is this sound again, the faint screams you’ve heard before! The sight threatens to bring your tears back instantly. This isn't right! This shouldn’t be real!

    “No, my little thief, I was curious to see what you would do once you found out that you're not in _your_ world anymore.” Your demonic employer tells you, amusement lacing his grating voice again.

You can feel your blood running cold despite the warm air, your knees turning to jelly.

    “Wh- what do you mean, not my world?! What _is_ this!?” you wheeze, fear clawing at your heart like an icy set of talons. Next to you, Blackhat takes a deep breath, exhaling it with a low, appreciative hum, flicking invisible specks of dust off his pristine coat.

    “When I asked you the night before, how you knew where to find my organization, I wasn't just referring to my home address, you see. No, to find my base of operation you would need to know how to get to my island, first. And have the means necessary for _interdimensional travel_ , of course.”

You shake your head, whether because you don't understand his words or simply refuse to believe them, you can't tell.

Blackhat leans down, closer to you, one hand sneaking up your back again to place itself over the branding, making the pain flare until tears sting in the corners of your eyes, but you still turn your face to meet his glare head on. You refuse to let him revel in your fear any further. Blackhat is grinning again, single eye glinting at you. His monocle flashes in red.

    “My dear, this is not the Earth you know. This place is a parallel dimension I've chosen as my domain.”

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"Welcome to Hatsville"

 

* Jika-tabi (地下足袋, "tabi that contact the ground") is a type of outdoor footwear worn in Japan. Also known (outside Japan) as "tabi boots", they are modelled on  _tabi_ , traditional split-toe Japanese socks. Like other tabi, jika-tabi have a divided toe area.

This gives wearers tactile contact with the ground, and the concomitant gripping ability lets them use their feet more agilely than rigid-soled shoes allow. This is useful for workers who traverse girders on construction sites and need to be sure what is under their feet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's the next chapter!! Yaaaay!
> 
> Okay, that aside: OMGOSH HAVE YALL SEEN THE ATROCIOUS DAWN YET???!!! WHAT DO YOU THINK?! BITCH I WAS ON THE FLOOOOOOR!!!
> 
> tho, I really prefer the Spanish version tbh :/ Iunno, Blackhat left aside (Alan Ituriel is amazing and he can have my soul tyvm) all the other characters sound kinda lame compared to their Spanish voice actors. Plus, a lot of dialogue was left out/changed in the English version without any apparent reason?? I was _especially_ peeved when Flug woke 5.0.5 and simply called him "5.0.5." in the English version, where in the Spanish one he CALLED HIM "FLUFFY" LIKE WHAT YOU CAN'T TELL ME THAT'S NOT DOABLE IN INGLÉS???!
> 
> and do NOT get me started on Dem's English voice actress... I mean, I don't mean anything against her, but it just doesn't sound as manic as Spanish Demencia ´n`
> 
> oof, all ranting aside, I can't wait for more episodes!! Hope you all liked this chapter, I literally wrote this over a month ago so I had no idea that Hatsville (that name I got from the newspapers BH is always reading in the Orientation Guides) is a fricking island, so I changed that later but kept the idea that it's still a different dimension, considering the Black Hat Organization actually interacts with countless different CN universes!
> 
> Okay, I shut up now, for real x'D
> 
>  **Edit:** Next update on Sunday 16th!


	7. A Little Wicked

_Blackhat harrumphs but directs his gaze back out the window._

_“I wanted to talk to you about your first job.” He says, his hand stilling._

_“Alright, what do you want me to do? Steal? Spy? Mug?”_

_There’s a pause in which you’re sure you can hear his grin._

 

### 7\. A Little Wicked

 

 

Blackhat opens the gate for you and you don't even have the energy left to laugh at the big B and H embedded into the double-winged gate. You feel strangely empty and halfway suspect your boss just might have snatched your soul from your body on the silent walk back without telling you.

Your thoughts are still revolving around how the hell you got here if this isn't even your own dimension! At least the theory that Sans might have had brought you here to die is debunked for good now. While he _can_ use his magic to teleport, or rather create shortcuts as he calls it, he had never been able to use it to go to other dimensions! But now you’re once again left without any clue as to how you ended up here and exactly _who_ had tossed you into this mess.

Standing on the stone flight in front of the huge door, you suddenly stop and turn to Blackhat.

    “Sir… you- you can _travel_ between the worlds, right?” He scowls at the hope in your voice but slightly inclines his head. “Could you… could you take me back to my world? O- once I’ve paid off my debt to you, first, of course!” You're quick to add when the long, thin brows draw even closer together like clashing storm clouds.

    “And why would I possibly do that?!” he growls, baring his teeth at your insolence.

You stand your ground and clench your hands into fists, praying that your next words will be music to his non-existent, evil ears.

    “Because I want to _kill_ my former boss.” You say, firmer than you thought you would. That immediately brings back his wide grin but you sense the furtive edge before he speaks.

    “Are you sure that's something you could do? Last time I checked, you were but a harmless little con-artist-rat, without a single cold-blooded murder under your belt.” His monocle gleams slightly and you swallow.

    “You don’t know that, I never told you anything about myself!”

His laughter is loud and full as he throws his head back. Somehow his hat stays on.

    “Oh, trust me, I _know_. But you have yet to fail to surprise me with your boldness. I will consider it, my dear _______.” He's still chuckling when the door opens on its own and he steps inside, now holding his cane again. You exhale your held breath and follow behind him.

In the front hall, Flug already awaits you; arms crossed in helpless fury, one foot tapping on the floor like he's goddamn Bugs Bunny. The pouty display doesn't fail to bring a smirk to your face as you saunter up to him, hands in your pockets.

    “’sup, doc. Already done with your project?” You ask, played surprised, earning a snicker from Blackhat himself.

    “You have _some_ nerve! Next time I'll make sure to paralyze you! You're even worse than Dementia!” Flug exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. You press a palm against your chest in mock offense.

    “Ouch! No need to get personal, geez!”

Flug looks like he's on the brink of exploding now as he points towards the elevator and shrieks: “Lab! Now!”

Before you can move, you feel the weight of Blackhat's hand on your shoulder again.

    “Come to my office once you're done. We will discuss your first job.” With that he vanishes in a puff of smoke and you hurry to follow Flug to the elevator. Curiously enough, the brand beneath you jacket has stopped aching.

 

-

 

You already expect Flug to strap you right back into the chair to watch the rest of the orientation videos, but he just takes you to the main lab and orders you to sit down on a stool. It seems wiser to behave right now, you don’t actually want to get on Flug's bad side, considering that there's a high probability he's going to have to patch you up in the future as well.

    “Now, how in the world did you manage to free yourself?” Flug demands to know. “I x-rayed your jacket and everything, there was nothing in it when you got it back!”

You play with the thought of lying and telling him that you have hidden superpowers, but decide instead to be honest, maybe it'll get you something out of it. So you reach into your sleeve and pull out the improvised lock pick you foraged, holding it into the light.

Flug drops his tensed shoulders and watches in silent bafflement how you procure item after item from your jacket, and when you finally decide to also pull out the chocolate bar you stole, already regretting to lose your emergency food, there's a tiny mountain of stuff on the table next to you.

He just continues to stare at you, blinking behind his goggles and you throw your hands up in the air.

    “Look, I'm sorry okay? It's a lifestyle! I _steal_ shit!” you blurt out in your defense. Yet the scientist just grabs the scissors you took, turning them in the light.

    “I'm starting to understand why my master didn’t just dispose of you. These are… these are some very useful skills.” His glasses reflect the light for a second. “You know… there might even be something you could do for _me_.” He snickers quietly to himself and you shrug.

    “Sure, why not? But BH wanted to see me after we're done so…”

Flug flinches, whether at your lack of proper form of address or the mere mentioning of his lord and master you can't quite tell.

    “Of course, of course… say, you mentioned some tools yesterday, maybe I can construct a replacement for you. Since you're pretty much stranded in this dimension and all.”

You grind your teeth. Of course Flug knew.

    “I'd love that, actually. I feel pretty useless without my knives and gear. Repurposing everyday items gets you only so far.” You say, your mood lifting at the prospect of getting some new gear from an evil genius this time and not by scrounging around the black market for second-hand items. Plus it's free!

   “Good. As payment, you can simply steal something for me.” Flug announces, so there goes your free shit. But you chuckle and nod.

    “You got yourself a deal, doc.”

Flug then inspects the branding on your back and hums, satisfied.

    “It's almost healed already, the salve worked on you… thank goodness.” He adds under his breath and you shoot him a skeptic glance.

    “So… does that mean I can finally get something to eat? I am most definitely starving right now!” And as if to underline your words, your stomach growls horrendously. Flug, who's doing something at the workbench behind you, makes a confused noise.

    “Hm? Oh, yes, of course. I just need to… could you lay your head to the side please?”

Without even thinking about it, you promptly do what he says and a sharp pain shoots through the right crook of your neck and shoulder. You cry out, but Flug keeps your head in place as he pulls the trigger of the giant syringe he's jammed into your neck. Another harsh sting explodes under your skin.

    “Ow! The fuck, Flug?!” you yell at him and slap your hand over the burning spot once he lets go of you. He snickers evilly and puts the syringe away before pulling his phone from the pocket of his lab coat, waving it in your face.

    “In order to prevent any further… _escapes_ from you, I just implanted you a tracker. This way I get an alarm on my phone should you leave through any of the windows or doors. Let that be a lesson! And be glad that I'm not putting an ankle monitor on you that would stun you with electric shocks as well, the way I did with Dementia!” 

You keep rubbing your smarting neck, piercing him with your eyes but you can't feel the chip, it's either too small or sitting too deep.

    “You're sick…” you mutter and Flug snickers ominously.

    “Do you want pancakes or not? Then stop complaining and come on.”

You do want pancakes. And if they're anything like the pie you saw that 5.0.5 had baked, you want them even more. So you stop complaining, take the Band-Aid he hands you and stick it over the puncture wound. Great. Now you have to figure out a way how to get rid of the tracker, too!

    “What time is it, anyway? I couldn't really tell when I was outside.” You ask and Flug pushes the sleeve of his coat back, revealing a futuristic blue smartwatch that he probably built himself.

    “Almost six in the afternoon. You've been out for a while after Lord Blackhat branded you.”

    “Yeah, I figured.” Then you remember something and jog up to walk next to him. “Oh! Do you know how that plane in the roof got there?” you ask, curious again, and the scientist flinches before nervously pulling on the collar of his shirt. You follow the motion with your eyes and suddenly really see the motive on his graphic tee. It's a cartoon plane, broken in two with a stylized explosion behind it.

    “Noooo…” you breathe out, grinning from ear to ear as you stare at him with glee. “Well now I _really_ wanna know how it got there!”

Flug sighs in defeat, shooting you another vile glare when you keep grinning at him inside the elevator.

    “I really should keep Dementia and you separate. If you two get along even slightly I can only imagine the havoc you'd wreak… Haah, alright, fine.”

The elevator stops at the ground floor and you notice you're right across from the big front door, beneath the grand double-staircase that leads up to the gallery. Flug turns right, towards the kitchen.

    “In my youth I was obsessed with planes, still am actually.” He admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "Anyway, I somehow found myself at the opportunity of… taking one of the last experimental research-aircrafts ever built and oh, I simply could not resist! So I took it, escaping the military outpost by the skin of my teeth and piloted it across the ocean! But in my youthful carelessness I flew over the Bermuda triangle, trying to shake the fighter jets that were after me, and ah… well, a _portal_ opened.”

You hang on his every word, absently waving at 5.0.5 when you enter the kitchen, jumping on one of the tall bar stools and leaning your elbows on the counter while Flug walks around it, opening the giant fridge and taking out a plate of pancakes he puts in the microwave.

    “Wait, my world had a Bermuda triangle as well…” you suddenly realize and Flug blinks at you, astonished.

    “Oh? Hm, where were you from exactly?”

    "South City?” you reply, hopefully, and now he raises his hands off the counter in surprise.

    “ _The_ South City?! That place was infamous even in my time! And you really _lived_ there?!” You sit up a bit straighter at his incredulous tone.

    “Born and raised, baby! I was one of the scourges roaming her streets at night. I told you, my old boss was _the_ Sans Gaster.” You remind him, somewhat glad that you're not the only one stranded in this dimension.

Flug shakes himself with disgust.

    “I totally forgot… I was already working for Lord Blackhat when the monsters came to the surface.”   

    “So, planes and ships do actually go missing in there?” you pick up the story and he nods.

    “Yes… it was as if a black hole had sucked the plane in. The forces were so overwhelming that I lost consciousness, and when I came to again, I had crashed into the side of this mansion and somehow survived. But then… but then-” he suddenly falls silent, his body trembling all over and 5.0.5 whines miserably. You reach out over the counter and grab his arm, recognizing the panic attack.

    “Doc. Hey, it's fine, you don't have to say it. I can very well imagine what happened next.” You say quietly and smile crookedly when he snaps out of it. “You survived, didn’t you?”

Flug nods shakily, a few beads of sweat running down his neck. He clears his throat.

    “In- in the end it was my evil, scientific genius that secured me a job here… and the fact that Lord Blackhat's previous engineer had been… _dissolved_ , after an incident involving vomit and-" he shakes his head again like he was trying to fight the memories. One hand creeps up his scrawny side, absently palming over one spot, again and again.

    “He branded you, too, huh?” you realize and return his startled gaze firmly. “Why does it start to hurt when he's around? What _is_ -" you want to ask more questions, have to know what you've really been tossed into by some twisted fate, but the microwave dings and Flug quickly places the steaming pancakes in front of you before hurrying towards the door.

    “D- don't forget he wanted to see you. I- I have to get back to work now.”

You just stare at the closing door. _Wow_. Flug must have had it way worse than you imagined. 5.0.5 lets out another sad noise and you beckon him closer, scratching his chin when he slumps down on his haunches next to the bar stool you're sitting on. After finding the silverware with dream-like instincts, you dig into the pancakes, _moaning_ at the taste that is somehow amazing enough to wipe every gloomy thought out of your brain and fill it with sunshine.

    “Oh my _god_! Bud, did you make these?!” you ask the blue bear incredulously and pat his head when he nods it happily, careful not to crush the yellow flower. "Holy- they are _so_ good!”

While you're trying to savor the taste and make it last, you're far too famished to control yourself any longer and the big stack of pancakes is gone in the blink of an eye. Licking the last bit of butter and syrup off the plate, you slump down on the counter, groaning at the beginning bellyache.

    “So… worth… it…”

After a few deep breaths you slowly sit upright and eye the many shelves and cupboards in the vast kitchen. Judging by Flug's stained lab coat, there has to be coffee around here somewhere. You could really go for a cup, but the brand on your back has begun to burn again and you remember Blackhat's order. Though you'll definitely come back for some coffee as soon as you can.

Returning to the main hall, you decide to take the stairs up to Blackhat's office instead of the elevator since your street instincts are urging you to get more familiar with your new surroundings quickly if you're going to spend an unpredictable amount of time here. Yet the _thief_ in you wants to go and _explore_ and see what other riches your new boss might have hoarded. You have no doubt that he has probably already existed longer than you can fathom. The photography in the gallery is proof enough that your employer is at least over two hundred years old.

On your way down the hallway to the huge black door, you suddenly pick up a faint noise. You stop a few inches in front of Blackhat's office, digging your tabi-toes into the plush carpet, listening.

There's music playing softly from inside, sounding like it's being played over an antique gramophone. You don't know what this sort of music is called again. Charleston or Swing maybe? The song is peppy, but laced with strings that sound a little too off. A chill runs down your spine.

Suddenly the door opens with a creak and you jump where you stand.

    “I hope you weren't planning on standing there all night…” you hear Blackhat rumbling from the far end of his office and quickly hurry inside. The door closes behind you on its own and now you can make out the lyrics of the next song, that indeed plays on an ancient, gothic looking gramophone to the right side of the giant window:

 

_Gather ‘round my children_

_For I’ve a tale to tell_

_Have you heard the lore?_

_Of the most peculiar man of all_

_He’s tall and wears a black hat_

_And in the dark he strikes; oh my!_

_No hero dares to stop him_

_They run in terror and fright_

Before the song can continue, Blackhat lifts the needle off the record, the scratching noise your one and only cue to _move_ before bad things might happen. So you will your feet to approach your new boss, even though you feel like running again. _It has to be the room itself_ , you think. You weren’t that on edge when Blackhat jumped you in the gallery and almost bashed your skull in; hell, you walked all the way back to the manor _beside_ him and you didn’t feel as bad as you do now!

Yet… the way he’s standing with his back to you, facing the dark, red window, one arm crossed on his back, posture absolutely immaculate and casting a huge, ominous shadow across the length of the office, you fear the worst already.

Night has completely fallen over the town of Hatsville, and the office is a lot darker than it was before noon, yet the window somehow seems to still be illuminated by some sort of light source from within the glass.

    “What took you so long?” Blackhat growls when you stop a few meters behind him, slightly turning his head so that the monocle flashes red at you. You’re immediately taken back to a situation quite similar to this one, but back then a huge skeleton monster had been glaring at you from behind a thick cloud of magic cigar smoke. And somehow you don’t feel so scared anymore.

    “Sorry, bossman.” You drawl reflexively, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jacket. Then you realize who exactly you’re talking to and clear your throat. “Uhm, I grabbed a bite downstairs after Dr. Flug was done with me in the lab, Lord Blackhat. Sorry for making you wait.”

 _There_. More would be groveling and you’ve gotten the feeling that he is not exactly a fan of boot-licking underlings.

Blackhat _harrumph_ s but directs his gaze back out the window, the hand not on his back playing with something you can’t see.

    “Well, you’re here _now_ and I wanted to talk to you about your first job.” He says, his fidgeting hand stilling.

    “Alright, what do you want me to do? Steal? Spy? Mug?”

There’s a pause in which you’re sure you can _hear_ his grin.

    “ **Catch**!”

With a blurred motion he suddenly wheels around. All you register is his arm darting forward and something flashing in the wan light and then your body already reacts on instinct; weaving underneath the projectile’s path, your own hand flies after the object and plucks it out of the air. With a final spin, you come around and up to face him, the knife angled backwards in your right fist by your side, while your other hand waits defensively before your face to block any other incoming blows.

Standing in a battle-ready crouch, you keep your eyes fixed on him, reading his body language with years of experience only the worst of streets can provide. Your fear is entirely gone now, replaced by the adrenaline of an unexpected fight.

Blackhat is grinning widely at you, both his hands now on his back. Apart from his burning eye, there’s nothing giving away the fact he just threw a fucking knife at you! He’s _fast_. Faster than anyone who ever threw anything at you! Shit, you’ve had a Russian mobster shoot crossbow-bolts at you one time and they couldn’t possibly match Blackhat’s speed!

You keep staring at each other; you with your body tingling from tension, and Blackhat virtually exhilarated by your performance, which he doesn’t bother to hide even remotely. This entire situation is so bizarre that you recover much quicker from the thought that he could have actually killed you if you had been just a millisecond slower.

You snort.

    “Alright. _Done_. Next?” you scoff, drawing your hands a little closer to your body in case he has another knife behind his back now.

Green fangs part in a resounding laughter that manages to bring some of the fear back into your bones and you grip the knife’s handle tighter. It’s a huge Bowie knife, heavier than the throwing knives you normally used but incredibly well balanced. It immediately gives you confidence.

    “I’m not gonna lie, little thief – that was marvelous!” Blackhat rasps, reaching up with one hand to bow into your direction and – you swallow in horror – _tip his hat to you_! Your shocked gasp stocks when you see what’s underneath: a black bowler hat with a red hatband.

And just like that, your tension evaporates. He has _another_ black hat underneath the _top_ hat! You can’t help it, you chuckle and snicker and eventually your laughter rings freely as you lean heavily on your knees. But, having learned from your previous mistake, you reign yourself in almost instantly and do a little curtsy before swiftly twirling the knife and holding it out to him by the tip of the curved blade as you approach him.

Blackhat’s bowler hat vanishes beneath the top hat again and he pushes the knife towards you, which gives you a mild heart attack, but thankfully he doesn’t actually plunge it into your chest.

    “Keep it. You’ve earned it. I would have been satisfied if you had just dodged successfully. But _actually_ catching it?” He chuckles lowly, causing another chill to run down your entire spine. “That takes guts and skill. And a certain _wickedness_.”

He places the same hand on your shoulder and turns you around, walking towards the door with you.

    “I believe it’s time I showed you to your room.”

* * *

Achievements unlocked!

"Finally, some good fucking food!"

"Knife to meet you!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww shiiiiiet man I had an awesome weekend!! Hope yall had some nice days off as well ♥ and what do you know, you've successfully finished your first job for the boss-hat, congrats! But I'm sure we all can agree on that the next job probably won't be that easy, huh? 
> 
>  
> 
> **Next chapter on Sunday the 23rd!**
> 
>  
> 
> Oh and by the way, please go check out my home-slice Sha's twitter @ShaBiest cuz she be drawing that good Villainous shit lately ♥♥♥


	8. The Dance Begins

_Your feet burn from the temperature but you force yourself to sink down with a hiss, groaning when the hot liquid washes over your branding and the more recent bruises still littering your entire body._

 

###  8. The Dance Begins

 

You finger the knife nervously in your pocket while you walk along behind Blackhat, down the hall and up the stairs to the third floor, where you had woken up in the study. But he immediately stops and opens a door right across from the stairs, ushering you inside.

When your eyes accustom to the gloom, your mouth falls open in shock. You had expected an empty room with a dirty mattress in one corner or even another prison cell, but certainly no elegant room fit for a posh lady. The bed is gigantic and most likely as soft as it looks, there's a big wardrobe in one corner, an armoire, a desk and a furnace with two heavily cushioned armchairs in front of it. The only downside might be even more portraits of Blackhat himself.

You take a timid step back, almost bumping into your boss yet your hackles rise instantly, reminding you of his presence.

    “Um… are- are you sure? This is… way too nice for me.” You mumble, feeling lost and entirely out of place in the vast room already. Blackhat shoves you inside with one hand, growling:

    “If you prefer the cell, just say so and I'll make sure you never see the light of day again!”

You stumble forward, gripping the knife tighter in your jacket's pocket.

    “On second thought, this one has a _bed_ so, I guess it's alright.” You point out, turning around in time to catch his annoyed expression. Blackhat gestures towards the other end of the room.

    “And an adjacent bathroom. I will be busy filming another product showcase tomorrow, so you are going to do some tasks around the manor. Now…” he grins, his face doing that creepy-crawly shit again that makes your toes curl from disgust. “Pleasant dreams.“ he adds with a scary chuckle and closes the door behind him as he leaves.

You scowl at the polished wood but then blink in confusion. He actually left through the door for once instead of just vanishing into thin air!     

Now that you're alone, you flip the light switch next to the door, eyes widening when you see the luxurious room in all its glory. The wallpaper is the same red as in the lounge, the floor plush carpet of a dark grey and the ceiling looks like wooden panels yet it's so high up you can't tell for sure. Your room has two huge red windows, complete with the same columns and heavy curtains you've already seen.

Meticulously you begin to inspect the entire room, starting with the fireplace. But unfortunately the chimney is too narrow even for you to squeeze through, so sadly no alternative escape route. Yet the armchairs look almost comfortable enough on their own to serve as a place to sleep.

But you continue through the room, checking every nook and cranny for hidden stuff and other secrets, huffing a disappointed breath when you come up empty time and time again.

You open the desk's drawers carefully as if they contained a bomb, but you don't feel like taking a risk with them, considering what had been _shrieking_ in Blackhat's desk. Safe for a few blank note pads, pens and pencils, they are all empty. Not even a few paper clips you could forage into a better set of lock picks. Boring.

You leave the bed for last and decide to open the wardrobe. It's empty, unsurprisingly, as is the armoire and you wonder if you'll ever get the chance to get new clothes to wear around here! There's no way you're going to wear the same shit every day! Or walk around naked, now that your shirt is already in the laundry, wherever the hell _that_ might be. Nope, the days of being dirty and smelling like death are long behind you!

The adjacent bathroom elicits a soft gasp from you, however. There's a huge bathtub, standing freely in the middle of the room like a dramatic art-installation, its white ceramic starkly contrasted to literally everything else in this house. It's like you had stumbled over a unicorn in Blackhat's office.

You approach it slowly, letting your fingertips flit over the spotless rim of the tub that looks like it's brand new. You've never had a bathtub. There had been one time on a heist where the owners of the mansion you were robbing had gone out and you had used the pool in their basement for a quick swim. In Sans' base you had been forced to rely on collected rain water if you didn’t want to share a washing room with the entire rest of the gang. Not a lot of _fun_ shit was going down in the washing room.

You bite your lower lip, ignoring the pain from where it had been split open before by Blackhat slamming your face into the wall. Then you rip the zipper of your jacket down, shut and lock the door behind you and run to the huge marble sink landscape. Placing the knife on the counter and dropping into a crouch, you yank the cupboards open, giggling maniacally when you find it filled with bath salts, oils and other stuff that smells heavenly!

With an arm full of products you return to the bathtub and wildly turn the copper valves, shrieking at the cold water bursting forth from the tap. It takes you a while to get the temperature right but when you're happy with it, you dump container after container of bath additive into the swirling current, whistling at the colors and moaning at the smells. Now that you're really alone, you discover an entirely new side of you.

Something on the floor catches your eye and you grab the round object, wrapped in black parchment paper and a red ribbon, that appears to have rolled out of the cabinet and halfway beneath the bathtub. There's a rich, heavy smell coming off of it, like amber, strong enough to pierce through the cacophony of scents your mad mixing has created in the bathroom.

Yet despite all the stuff already in the water, you unwrap the bath bomb as well and gasp softly once the black paper yields its treasure: the orb in your palm is pitch black, with ore-like veins of compressed red glitter streaking it.

Without thinking twice about it, you toss the weird thing into the water and watch closely. It hisses and sizzles, black tendrils quickly transforming the water into ink, while the red glitter glimmers in the light, whirled around by the hot currents. The smell hits you like an actual punch. You snicker dopily.

    “Never would’ve thought that Blackhat even develops his own line of evil beauty products.”

You don’t even wait until the tub is filled, you pull the sports bra over your head, strip down shoes, leggings and panties and climb into the black water. Your feet burn from the temperature but you force yourself to sink down with a hiss, groaning when the hot liquid washes over your branding and the more recent bruises still littering your entire body. An older scar, a long cut in your thigh, tingles grossly.

It feels heavenly, pain and all.

The smells are almost overwhelming, the scent from the sizzling orb looming over all the other ones like a maestro directing an orchestra, but you take deep breaths nevertheless and even allow yourself to close your eyes and slump down more until the water licks over your split lip. You sense your muscles slowly relaxing as the warmth creeps into your body. After a few minutes you can't even feel your limbs anymore - it's like you're floating through space.

Tiny air bubbles, released from the black ball, dance over your back, tickling your skin on their race towards the surface as they get caught in the fine hairs. Your head lolls to the side and you let it happen, let yourself go lax in the peace of the moment that seems to span into eternity.

At one point you think you can hear soft music again, coming from somewhere below you. With your eyes still closed, you strain your ears and focus on the sound.

It’s a lone violin, playing a slow, haunting melody.  You try to settle back down, but catch yourself listening more closely, trying to follow the strange rise and fall of the tune and yet relaxing more and more the longer you listen, your thoughts slowly running out.

Then you suddenly jerk, quickly snapping your eyes back open and sitting up, afraid you might drown in your sleep. But you’re not in the bathtub anymore. Silken blankets pool around your hip where you're sitting upright in the bed, and you blink a few times at the sight of them, utterly confused.

When had you gotten out of the tub?!

You clutch the edge of the blankets and pull them up quickly to cover your bare torso, eyes darting across the vast bedroom on high alert! Could it be that…

But after a quick check of your body you exhale, relieved. No harm was done to you in between your waking moments. And you don’t feel like you had been drugged by something that was in the pancakes from earlier. Yet the possibility of future gaps in your memory scares you. What if the hit over your head had affected you more than just the superficial wound? As far as you know, Flug hadn't run any medical tests on you up to now, and a blood-clot in your brain could be rather _critical_ to your health!

Yet despite your high-strung nerves, you can’t really seem to muster the willpower to get out of the more than comfortable bed again. Not even to retrieve the knife you’ve left on the counter to put it under your pillow just in case!

  _Nah_. Your body is still just too warm and relaxed from the amazing bath, and all the adrenaline from just one day in the services of Lord Blackhat has virtually drained you to the point of physical (and most definitely mental) exhaustion. Plus, you’ve already survived one night in this manor without getting killed.

So you grab the covers tighter, wrap them around yourself and curl up inside the mountain of plush pillows surrounding you. Before you even get the chance to wonder when the hell you’re supposed to show up for work in the morning, you’re already fast asleep, so deep in fact, that you don’t even notice the eerie sounds, coming from the portraits of your new boss around you and who share a telling grin among each other while they hum along to the sound of the lone violin from downstairs.

 

 

The sunlight rouses you from your slumber eventually and you make a reluctant noise in the back of your throat, turning over onto the other side to stick your face into a pillow and hide from the bright light.

    “Aoooww.” Something growls right above you. You freeze for a terrified second, eyes snapping open against the silk of the pillowcase, brain trying to decide whether to play dead or bolt immediately! Then you _smell_ something and somehow that’s enough to bring your memories from the day and night before back.

With a lazy smile, you raise your head from the pillow, knowing at once that your hair is an absolute rat’s nest, but you don’t care. After all, it’s just 5.0.5, looking positively like an actual Care-Bear, with the little apron he has around his furry belly and the yellow flower bobbing over his head. A tray with a plate full of steaming pancakes, coffee and orange juice is somehow clutched between his paws and your smile grows another inch.

    “Mornin’ bud…” you murmur, yawning loudly. “Aww, is that for me? Thanks! You know, I never would have thought that waking up in here could be anything other than-“

 _Terrifying_ , is what you wanted to say, but in that moment, the cute and cuddly form of 5.0.5 bloats disgustingly, slimy tentacles and other horrible limbs you can’t identify shooting out of his widely opened maw and his eyes literally melt out of their sockets and you scream, scream so loudly that the sound rings around in your skull! You crawl backwards, away from the nightmarish figure and finally fall off the bed, taking the blankets you’re still clutching with you.

Through your haunted, panicked intakes, you hear an evil, grating laughter that sounds all too familiar and you somehow lose most of the fear instantly. To be honest, you’re more than _pissed_ instead. _Asshole_ … you think viciously, trying as hard as you can to battle your embarrassed flush and sit upright in the chaos of too-many-blankets.

The soft whisper of shoes on carpet announces Lord Blackhat as he steps around the bed, still chuckling at the start he gave you. Your eyes shoot up to glare at him and he returns your piercing stare with his usual horrible shark-grin, folding both his hands over the curve of his black cane.

    “I don’t know if I should congratulate you, sir, or _kick_ you!” you hiss and watch how his grin widens impossibly.

    “I feel inclined to encourage you…” he retorts smoothly, cocking a brow at you and lifting a gloved hand to rub his chin. Before you can accept that invitation all too enthusiastically, you suddenly realize where his single eye is resting and already curse under your breath again, quickly wrapping the disheveled blankets back around your naked form, your face burning. Yet Blackhat makes a disapproving sound.

    “Tsk, I didn’t think that you would let something so trivial stop you from getting revenge. Disappointing.” With that he pinches his fingers together in the air and pulls them down as if he was holding a zipper. Reality itself rips open and he reaches into the tear to procure something from the void and toss it at you. You catch the arm-full of fabric and quickly press it against your chest since you had to let go off the blankets again, staring up at Blackhat with a dumbfounded expression. The eldritch dealer of evil services raises his eyebrow again with a more irritated expression and then pointedly turns around.

Now, finally no longer under his piercing eye, you inspect the bundle of cloth and realize he just handed you a fresh ensemble of clothes! Namely, a pair of black, pin-striped dress pants and a blood red shirt. For a second you think they must be from Blackhat’s own dresser, but then you notice that the shirt has a tapered fit and much slimmer sleeves than his own.

Something shifts ominously in the atmosphere around your boss and you quickly scramble to your feet, already shoving the first one into a pant leg.

    “D- Did I oversleep? I didn’t really have any means to set an alarm, so…” you try to defend yourself, racking your brain to figure out if that’s the reason he decided to wake you personally or if he just realized that he could get a good laugh out of scaring you.

    “You _did_. But that just means your day is going to be a little longer than it would have been initially.” Blackhat tells you, fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on his cane. He turns back around the very second you close the last button of your new shirt. And by turning around, I mean that his head does a 180° turn two seconds before his body follows. His gaze travels down your frame and he nods, expression relaxing ever so slightly in apparent approval.

“That’s better. I will lend you more work attire, and of course you will have to pay them off if they get damaged. Now, as for your tasks today, here’s a list.” With another grin, he produces a piece of rolled-up parchment from nowhere in particular and almost stabs you with it. You take it automatically but Blackhat pulls you closer by it and suddenly you find yourself barely inches from his dangerous set of teeth.

    “You better be finished with these by midnight.” He growls with real anger now and you nod, swallowing thickly around the fear choking down any response. Only when Blackhat lets go off the parchment and leans back do you find your voice again: “Sure- sure thing, boss.”

He gives you another hard stare and then vanishes into the ground. You exhale your held breath and slump against the nightstand, wiping over your sweat-drenched forehead. Unfortunately, the stack of pancakes, along with everything else, had been part of his deceiving disguise, so you’re left with no breakfast for the second consecutive day! And your sugar-deprived brain won’t have that!

    “Let’s see what the big Asshat wants done an’ then it’s coffee-break-time.” You huff, grinning at the nickname you’ve come up with just now and stripping the ribbon off the parchment. The list that unrolls soon reaches down to your hip, then your knees and you can only watch as it rolls away over the floor like in a goddamn cartoon! The groan ripping from your chest is loud enough that you’re sure Blackhat heard it, and then you’re _certain_ that he probably waited somewhere in the shadows or in front of the door for exactly _that_ reaction from you!

You try fruitlessly to incinerate the parchment roll with your glare alone, grinding your teeth in outrage as you skim over every point, neatly written down in an elegant handwriting you can only assume to be Blackhat’s very own. Your first task isn’t exactly that bad, you think.

  1. _Clean the kitchen._



Not too difficult a job. You meant to get breakfast before any of that jazz anyway, so you can start on the first assignment over a nice steaming cup of bean juice!

Returning to the bathroom to get your tabi-shoes, you decide to thoroughly sweep this room as well since you hadn’t gotten to that yesterday. Yet, just like the bedroom, there’s zip to be discovered in here. Except for more of Blackhat’s bath bombs, of course. You decide to take the knife with you – you can never know what Dementia, or the Master of the house, might have in store for you today – and quickly strip the shirt off once more to put on your sports bra underneath it and weave the blade through the improvised sheath you’ve sown into the back. Luckily the blade is not so big as that it wouldn’t fit and the shirt Blackhat gave you is tailored loosely enough to not make the knife stand out under the fabric.

You take another minute to wash your face and tie up your messy hair. The giant mirror above the sink is another luxury you never had before and you catch yourself studying your own reflection longer than you had meant to. Shaking your head, you leave the bedroom and swing your legs over the handrail of the stairs. With a few drops and lithe grips you’re on the ground floor in no time without even scratching the polished wood.

    “Alright, let’s go clean some shit.” You sigh, cracking your neck.

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"Bombs Away!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tienes suerte! My week has been starting off rather shitty with me being unable to control my gross eating habits but maybe it's just that time of the month... crikey I sure am nasty!  
> But you get to benefit from my self-loathing, because writing is at a manic high and I be slamming out chapters like crazy so here ya go ♥  
> Next chapter will still be up on Sunday!  
> Thank you SO MUCH for all the love this is getting, I'm on the FLOOR


	9. Don't Bring Me Down

_Somewhere in the library, you hear a clock chime and you flinch in start, anxiously counting the strikes._

_... Eight… Nine… Ten… Eleven…_

 

 

### 9\. Don’t Bring Me Down

 

 

The kitchen is a nightmare. You had expected to find the few pots and pans from 5.0.5's pie and pancake cooking yesterday, but now it looks like a tornado has raged in here over night! You can only stare open-mouthed at the mountains of dirty dishes that litter the kitchen aisle, the floor and every flat surface. Apprehensive, you tilt one of the pots in the sink to look inside, and the precariously perched stack of kitchenware starts to slide. You catch the falling pots in time but one of them spills and the unidentifiable goop drips sluggishly onto your new shirt and pants. You close your eyes and try to not let out a loud scream.

 _It's obvious who must’ve caused this utter obliteration of the kitchen,_ you think glumly, as you already move faster than you had initially planned, quickly putting all the bigger pots and pans on the floor to make room inside the sink.

    “If I see only a crusty, green, split end of Dementia…” you groan, dumping out every rest of the hellish brew still in the pots into the sink – or the trash when you find that there’s just too many solid objects inside. An entire ribcage, that seems too small to belong to a pig or cow, flies into the trashcan as well.

You still have no idea what time it is, and you don’t want to waste any more by trying to look for a watch or clock, so you work as fast as you can, pouring hot water and dish soap into the huge sink and then into every container you can’t fit inside, so they can at least soak until you’ve made room for them.

You’re so focused on your task that you don’t even hear the strange, alarming noises coming from deep beneath you, not even the muffled explosion or the terrible shout that follows it. Not that you haven’t had any previous experience in this sort of lackey work; Papyrus had made you clean the entire base every day for the first seven years you spent running with the gang. But it's been so long that you have forgotten how much you hated every second of it.

The only good thing is that you still have your speed and methodical way of working, so you don’t even care anymore that you’re soon covered in sludge, soap and sweat from head to toe and that your new clothes are eventually ruined. Sure, Blackhat is probably going to give you an ear full about that, but considering how many more items his stupid list contains, you really can’t be bothered to care about that now as well.

After what seems like hours, you finally lean heavily on the mop you found and take a second to breathe. The kitchen is spotless, the floor cleaned, and you’ve even opened the windows to speed up the drying process. With shaking hands you take out the list again to mentally prepare yourself for the second task, when something is happening on the parchment: the first assignment slowly vanishes from the paper, leaving only a blank space.

You blink. Apparently you did well. The second task reads: _2._ _Dust off all chandeliers._

    “Alright, but now I need at least a tiny cup of Joe before I lift another finger!” you huff and quickly brew an entire pot of coffee. Might need it later for an energy spike!

That’s when the door opens and Flug shuffles inside, sighing tiredly. One side of his lab coat is scorched and there’s even fresh soot on his paper bag. Yet he perks right up when he smells the steaming coffee.

    “Oh! Hello, _________.” He greets you, accepting the mug you hand him with another, more relieved sigh. “Thanks. I see you've started with the tasks Lord Blackhat gave you already. Most of them are actually 5.0.5's job, but we are all needed for this product showcase today, so… yeah.” He shrugs, takes a straw from one of the drawers and slurps his coffee through it beneath his paper bag.

You blow over your own cup and wave the parchment roll around.

    “Is there a particular reason why I need to have them done by _midnight_ , though? I’m willing to work the night through, you know?” you ask, but the way Flug flinches, so hard in fact that he spills coffee over his lab coat, gives you pause.

    “Uh, um… y-yeah you should r- _really_ be done with those tasks by mid- midnight, trust me!” he stutters, hastily smoothing down the burned paper bag over his face. He's avoiding your stare.

    “Okay…” you drawl, sipping coffee as if you hadn’t noticed his nervousness. “But, like, is it the official deadline, or am I just not supposed to be out in the halls after midnight?” you chase it up, silently eyeing the evil scientist to pick out every little nuance in his reactions. But all of a sudden, Flug's demeanor takes a 180:

    “It is an _order_!” He snaps, eyes narrowing at you behind his safety goggles and you actually take a precautionary step away from him when he clenches his free hand into a fist and stomps in helpless fury, spilling more coffee onto the floor. “I can’t help you if you keep throwing yourself blindly into obvious danger and ignore every warning sign down the road!”

He's obviously stressed out and overworked, so you ignore his outburst for now and pointedly make a move to mop up the coffee he's spilled all over your cleaned kitchen tiles! That somehow takes the thunder out of the scrawny man and he grumbles into his mug.

    “Look, Dr. Flug…” you say, leaning onto the mop once more with one arm, nudging your head towards the front hall. “You still don’t seem to understand that I have worked under one evil villain already. A very, very sadistic asshole on top of that. Compared to him, Lord Blackhat has treated me almost nicely-"

Flug gasps, mortified at the blasphemous words out of your mouth, but you just roll your eyes and carry on: “And don’t get me wrong, I _know_ the other shoe's gonna drop on me sooner or later and when it does, I’ll most likely be a dead man who tells no tales. But _you_ …” You suddenly address him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest, "need to spill some fucking _beans_ , dude! You say you can’t help me? Well, help me by telling me what the hell is going down after midnight and I will help you out in any way I can! You scratch my back and all that! Come on, we're in the same boat here!”

He cringes under your imploring tone, holding on to the mug in his hand and plucking at the sleeve of his rubber glove in a habitual, almost neurotic way. Flug takes a tiny breath and your hope grows. But then a thundering command shakes the entire mansion in its foundation and makes the two of you jump in start.

    “J- just have them done by midnight!” the doctor calls back at you and is already out the door.

Disappointed, you sigh and toss the mop back into the broom closet where you found it. _Shit_. You’re still no closer to figuring out what the hell it is that you’re dealing with when it comes to Blackhat, and how you might have gotten into his dimension in the first place. However, now that you know that there is something else supernatural (and probably terrifying) going on after midnight, you decide to work double-time to get all your tasks finished before you have to deal with that as well.

 

Hours later, you’re almost, miraculously, done with the list. You had deviated from their order since some of them lay closer together and it had made sense to you to conserve time by working from room to room, sometimes working on three or four tasks at once. Up to this point you feel like you have discovered more rooms than could actually, _possibly,_ fit into this one hat-mansion, and its dimension and scale had confused you deeply, giving you a migraine the more you tried to make sense of its layout compared to the actual size you had seen from outside.

But the strangest part of the hat had to be the crashed airplane, undoubtedly. You had been sent up there to organize Flug's overdue projects by their to-do-date and it had taken you massive amounts of self-discipline to not just drop the task to inspect the weird structure more closely. The only thing you had noticed right away was that the plane was obviously still being used, not lastly because most of Flug's unfinished projects were all literally just lying about. Apparently the scientist had repurposed it into his personal living space after Blackhat had taken him into his services. 5.0.5 lived here as well, if the mountain of stuffed animals and the countless crayon-drawings were anything to go by.

Right now, you were back in the study, where Blackhat had branded you with a burning hot iron rod, dusting off the shelves and the mantle above the still roaring furnace. The entire list had consisted of cleaning and tidying tasks so far, which weren’t too bad, and only the second to last point was giving you a bit of a bellyache: _Feed Gigantos in the dungeon._

Nobody in this bloody manor had ever bothered to mention a pet named Gigantos… or a prisoner or whatever it was.

    “What are the odds that it's just a cute lil kitty that lives in the dungeon?” you mutter, taking a very expensive, but also very cursed looking, silver goblet off the shelf to dust the spot where it had stood.

    “I'd say slim to none.” Blackhat's grating voice suddenly rasps behind you and you all but fall off the armrest of the chair you're balancing on, before you can catch yourself on the rim of the shelf.

    “Jesus fuck! Lord Blackhat.” You add quickly but shoot him an angry glare over your shoulder nevertheless. "I get the feeling you’re trying to scare me to death so you can _munch_ on my soul before I’ve had a fair chance to pay off my debt!” you blurt out without really thinking about it. But Blackhat only chuckles very loudly and very honestly at that so you hastily finish dusting and climb down from the armchair, pointedly wiping down the armrest as well afterwards.

Lord Blackhat looks different somehow. Then you realize that he's taken off his long, black coat and light gray waistcoat. His black tie hangs loosely around his ashen neck and he raises an ungloved hand to pull the knot open completely now, as he walks over to the small sideboard behind the armchair, pulling a big flask from the cupboard, along with a glass. You can see a dark liquid in the dusty bottle but no label that would tell you what fine liquor he's about to pour himself.

The sudden growl that comes from him makes you tense up in alert, your mind already preparing your muscles to pull the knife from where it's digging into your back. But then Blackhat just rubs the back of his neck in a display of physical exhaustion, cracking it with a horrifyingly loud noise, and sinks down on his armchair, placing glass and bottle onto the tiny table next to his massive chair. His single, bone white eye looks you over and a scowl darkens his eldritch features in reproach.

    “I do hope that you keep in mind to finish _all_ your tasks before midnight…” he warns you, crossing one leg over the other and folding both hands in his lap, glowering at you from the shadow of his top hat. “I don't intend to keep you around for longer if you can’t even follow _simple_ instructions.”

You narrow your eyes at him as well, snorting derisively and stuffing one edge of the now dirty rag into the waistband of your new, now dirty, pants. Blackhat follows the motion and his scowl unravels into a disbelieving expression now that he seems to fully grasp the state your brand new work attire is already in. The skin under his monocle twitches in fury.

    “And I hope _you_ know that I don’t intend to quit my new job all that early.” You return cheerfully, grinning as you pull out the list and watch the finished task vanishing from the parchment, showing it to him. One of Blackhat's thin, long eyebrows arches under the brim of his hat.

    “That leaves you with barely two hours to sort the library and feed Gigantos.” He informs you and you freeze before you cast a shocked glance towards the clock on the mantle, already lifting a finger to point at it.

Blackhat laughs raucously. “Oh that? It's two hours behind. Been that for ages. In fact, would you mind correcting the time? It's ten p.m.” he purrs and you hiss through your teeth to keep your cool as you snatch the clock from the mantle and turn the hands.

When you’ve put it back, Blackhat toasts you with his glass. A strange, deep purple and syrupy looking liquid is sloshing inside the expensive crystal. You lick your lips. You haven’t had _anything_ after that coffee in the kitchen, didn’t even have time to go back down and get some water.

Blackhat's everlasting grin widens, because, of course, he noticed.

    “Care for a drink, my dear?” He actually offers you the glass, and you actually take it, but with the way his green fangs shine in the poisonous light of the cold fire, you hesitate.

    “Will this,” you pensively swirl the glass around once, twice and already regret accepting it, “ _actually_ melt my insides or will it just feel like it does?” You ask, not really expecting him to answer that truthfully. He doesn't even give you a lie and just keeps on grinning. But the longer you look at the purple drink, the thirstier you seem to get until you just tip the cold crystal against your lips and take a long sip.

The alcohol burns in your throat, sets your insides ablaze the entire way down and an unbelievably foul taste brings tears to your eyes that instantly run over your cheeks. It's the most disgusting thing you ever tasted and you hope you’ll never have to taste it again, but before you can stop yourself, your own hand lifts the glass again and forces you to down the rest of it in one go, choking and retching from both the volume and taste. Your knees are shaking dangerously underneath you and you drop the glass to clutch the edge of the mantle so you don’t fall into the flames.

Blackhat catches it effortlessly, his nasty eye never leaving your face in macabre intrigue, and he's already snickering maliciously again while you struggle to keep your insides from dissolving with sheer willpower. Strangely enough, your thirst is gone, as is the leaden tiredness in your limbs. Yet it is quickly being replaced by a buzzing dizziness and you clench your eyes shut in an attempt to block out the whirling vertigo.

    “No, no, don’t try to fight it, little thief… _that_ is what’s going to melt your insides.” You hear Blackhat's amused voice from somewhere far away, as if you're suddenly under water.

 _That asshat has some nerve!_ , you think, on the brink of freaking out, burying your free hand in your stomach and clawing at the fabric of your shirt that suddenly feels too tight and hot. _How can you_ not _fight this?! It's eating me alive!_

A cold, strange hand wraps itself around your neck and jerks you from your frantic spiral of panic.

    “Breathe, you miserable creature!” Blackhat growls impatiently and you obey immediately, taking a deep breath against the hold he has on your throat that indeed helps to pull you back further. Weirdly enough, the panic and the gruesome sensation in your guts ease and you manage another, steadier breath. However, the buzz stays and you realize that the single glass has made you rather tipsy.

    “You… bassard.” You slur, gasping when the hand around your neck tightens in response to the insult. “W- why di’you make me dink- drink that?” Somehow you order your head to lift and look him straight in the eye, or as straight as your impaired brain manages to so that he now has two eyes and two glowing monocles next to them.

The eyes narrow slightly, the lance-shaped pupils dilating.

    “ _Made_ you? I didn’t make you do anything. You brought this all upon yourself, you stupid little human.” He's slowly closing in on you, blocking out the light from the fireplace with his dark shadow yet his eye and his green teeth seem to glow on their own. “You probably think, now that you're working for me, you’re safe. But believe me…” suddenly his voice drops even lower than you thought possible, a terrifying, demonic echo making it reverb through your whole body, rattling your very bones.

_“You've never been more in danger in your entire life!”_

You close your eyes with a stuttering breath and brace for the searing pain of having your throat torn out by sharp teeth. You can smell him now, sure enough. Blackhat smells like copper (blood, he smells like blood!), bitter cyanide, burnt wood and worn leather. But there’s also something sweet and heavy in between, like amber and opium, and overripe, rotten plum, which is the aroma from the disgusting alcohol. It paralyzes you and the only thing you can do to defend yourself is raise your hands and weakly clutch at the collar of his blood-red dress shirt in a pathetic attempt to stop the horrible monstrosity.

The horrible monstrosity chuckles deeply above your head.

    “Well? Are you afraid now?” he asks furtively and you nod, still not able to open your eyes.

    “I'm… I’m afraid imma puke all over you, sir.” You exhale shakily and, to your endless relief, he lets go off you and takes a few steps back with a grossed out noise. Finally you can breathe freely again and quickly sidestep, closer to the door, opening your eyes to keep them on the danger.

Blackhat is pouring himself another vile drink with his back turned towards you and makes a dismissive gesture with his free hand.

    “You better hurry. Midnight is approaching fast now.”

As if that had been the magic word to release you from this more than uncomfortable, and undoubtedly dangerous situation, you bolt out the door and race down the gallery towards the elevator. The dungeon seems like a much more inviting place to be right now.

Only when the door slides shut and the contraption moves downwards do you dare to sink against the wall and let your shoulders drop.

_That was too fucking close!_

 

But your day isn’t over yet, unfortunately. You sniff out Flug in his lab to ask him about Gigantos and how, and what, the fuck, to feed it. The good doctor looks even more exhausted than when you last saw him before noon, brooding almost half asleep over a new set of blueprints. You actually feel a little bad when you shake his shoulder to wake him up.

    “Gigantos? Oh boy… well, he's a-" he pauses and scratches the back of his paper bag. “He's a _manifestation_ of sorts, a- an accident really. A year ago I built a machine that could turn your most evil thoughts into reality and the test run… escalated – mostly because of Dementia I want to add! We managed to capture two of the manifestations and… the sandwich.” He shivers slightly. “But Dementia's manifestation escaped and Lord Blackhat took care of his own.” His voice peters out into a long yawn and you cast a glimpse to the clock on the wall. You're running out of time.

    “Yeah, well, okay. What does he eat and where is he in the dungeon?” you ask, snapping your fingers in front of his face. Flug flinches and heaves himself out of his chair, scuffling over to a chromed fridge in the back part of the lab that connects it with the hallway leading towards the dungeon.

For a moment you watch his noodle arms struggle with the pressurized door before you step in to help him, opening the fridge with one good yank.

    “Hmph. Thanks.” He huffs and hands you a plastic bucket. It's heavy and you see a few dried spots of blood around the closed lid. “Just make sure you don't step too close to the bars.” Flug calls over his shoulder as he shuffles back to his desk, waving you goodbye with a gloved hand.

You sigh heavily, still swaying slightly where you’re standing from the buzz of Blackhat's vile swill.

The steps down to the dungeon seem to dance before your eyes, like they’re feinting to the side whenever you want to put your foot down on them, and more than once do you have to lean against the cold, damp wall and close your eyes to shake the dizziness. In your mind you promise yourself that you won't let Blackhat trick you again, but that had never worked with Sans before either.

It really was your own damn fault that you kept getting too cocky and overly confident with entities who could easily tear you apart with a wave of their hand. Yet, despite all the pain and horrors they had inflicted on you, you were still alive and had not lost one ounce of your willpower or sass. If anything, all the violence and brutality you experienced had made you more bolder and reckless but also braver and quicker. _Stronger_.

Lost in thoughts like that, you almost step over the yellow and black safety tape on the ground and right into the curled talons of something huge that's lurking in a dark cell behind a row of bars. Its deep, rumbling snarl makes you jump back in shock, the bucket hitting the stone floor with a loud _thud_.

The monster roars, infuriated that its prey got away and yanks on the metal rods keeping it separated from you. Your eyes scan the area around its cell but the solid walls seem to hold fast, as well as the prison bars. And the claw marks inside the yellow and black rectangle don’t reach over the security tape. Slowly, very slowly, you sneak closer to the cell again, to where you’ve dropped the bucket, and snatch it by the handle, stumbling backwards when the monster roars again and reaches its talons, each as long as your foot, through the bars.

    “Fuck! Fuck, shit, shit, fuck!” you hiss and drop into a squat behind the bucket since your legs are already feeling weak again, running your hands over your cold, sweating face. The monster, Gigantos you presume, growls quietly and then utters a string of garbled, unintelligible words. But they’re unmistakably _language_ and you peek out between your fingers. Suddenly you notice something odd about the creature and before you know it, you’re back on your feet and walk up towards the safety tape as close as you dare, squinting into the dark cell.

    “Aw fuck, man, that is just _wrong_!” You groan and make a face. Gigantos is the gigantic, horribly disfigured, but still _spitting_ image of Lord Blackhat, complete with the monocle and black suit. Except that he’s over ten feet tall and built like an orangutan, with huge, way too long arms and a way too small body in relation that's dangling in the air, a giant, broad face and even bigger, crooked fangs that jut out over his upper lip. When you look up you even spot the tiniest black top hat on his skull.

    “Uh… hi? How's it going big guy?” you ask tentatively. “I’m ________.” In response, Gigantos snarls at you again, spraying you with green saliva.

    “Ey, cut it out! I brought you food you asshole!” you yell, shaking the bucket around. Doing that way too enthusiastically, the lid pops open and douses your entire chest with a gush of blood and other gross liquids. The ice-cold splash shuts you right up and for a moment you just stand there, feeling the disgusting marinade drenching your front, running down over your skin beneath the clothes and forming a small puddle underneath you.   

Gigantos barks a monstrous laugh at you.

 

After you had emptied the entire rest of the bucket into Gigantos' cell with one fierce swing, you’re back up on the second floor, heading towards the library that’s right next to Lord Blackhat's office. You smell disgusting, to say the least. The shit inside the bucket had consisted of blood, innards, fish bones and a whole lotta gross-ass slime that's currently drying on your clothes.

    “I'm _so_ gonna take another bath tonight!” you growl under your breath and yank the huge door open that leads to the library.

Which is also huge.

When you grasp the sheer size of it, and consider the one hour and some odd minutes you have left, you let out a miserable whine. There’s no way you’re going to organize all these thousands of books and papers in that time! Then you pause and quickly pull out the parchment you kept stuffed into the waistband on your back.

_Sort the library._

Yeah, it didn’t say in what way you were supposed to “sort" this huge conglomeration of knowledge. So you basically had free reign about the sorting system.

    “Hah, alright, let’s just go alphabetically.” You decide, but already the first random book you pick up destroys your elaborate plan of attack: the title is not written in any _human_ alphabet you know. “Craaaaap…” you groan and toss it back on the cluttered desk. Then your eyes narrow in a shifty manner and you let your gaze wander over the loose books strewn about all across the library. A smile curls your lips.

    “What if…” you say out loud into the silence, “we just _sort_ all _these_ books _back_ into the shelves?” Now it's your turn to cackle maliciously. Technically speaking, you’re doing what you’re ordered to and you’re not going against the work assignment, too. Bam. “Tch, too easy, BH.” You snort and unhurriedly pick up the few books lying on the first desk, placing them into the shelf next to it wherever you find a free space for them.

You whistle happily while you work, satisfied despite the gross, stinking shirt clinging to your body. Soon you’ll be out of those dirty clothes and in your scalding hot bathtub. The thought makes you shiver in anticipation, and you pick up your lazy pace now after all.

The second desk in the library, under one of the small windows, is also buried beneath books and you just grab an entire arm full of them, jamming and cramming them all into the bookcases around the desk. A few of them fall to the floor and you go back to pick them up. The first one is a heavy tome, dusty and barely held together by the spine, the second is a rather small, slim book without a title. When you pick it up by the lid, a piece of paper flutters out from between the pages and you catch it.

You don’t want to be curious, you don’t have time to, but you unfold the piece of paper anyway and skim the few, scraggly lines of handwriting.

 

_I have figured it out! I know the truth about the one they call Black Hat, about the Crawling Chaos himself!_

_C.5-S.2-B.15_

 

A jolt goes through your body and suddenly you’re wide awake.

    “The… the Crawling Chaos?” you whisper, confused, but something stirs around you, like a faint echo. You’re suddenly reminded of the agonized screams you heard the night Blackhat teleported you to his dungeon, and yesterday, when he pulled the veil from this dimension. The screams of tortured souls in the suffocating darkness.

You quickly look over your shoulder, but the library is still empty and you turn the book around and flip it open, looking for more hidden notes. The book itself is about some boring war chronicles and contains no other folded papers or annotations. So you stick it into a slim space between two thick encyclopedias and focus on the note once more.

_C.5-S.2-B.15_

_Sounds like some sort of secret code…_ you think, biting your already worn lower lip. Somewhere in the library, you hear a clock chime and you flinch in start, anxiously counting the strikes.

_…Eight… Nine… Ten… Eleven…_

It goes silent after eleven and you exhale sharply, folding the note back together and sticking it into the inner lining of your sports bra to hide it and keep it close. You still have a task to finish! Once you were done with that you could solve this mystery you discovered! Knowing that you only have one hour left now, you run around the library and even scale the creaking ladders when you run out of free space on the lower shelves. After the last book is stored away, you frantically unroll the parchment and stare with wide eyes at the elegant handwriting. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the last task fades and the parchment is pristine and empty after all.

You did it! You had finished all of Blackhat's tasks before midnight and, since he had not explicitly told you not to be outside your room after the clock would strike twelve, you decide to stay in the library and find out what the hell that secret code was about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this long-ass chapter ^^ Until next week!
> 
>  
> 
> **Next Chapter on Sunday 30th!**


	10. The Unnamable and A Grisly Reminder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, since didn't get any feedback on it, there's a playlist just for this story! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/58U5oW8u96CjitxmCX2i8h?si=MPN5zUVvT9aw8fUANJ3JcQ
> 
> Please tell me what you think; do you like it? Don't like it? Don't care? Rather have it on youtube?? I'm open for suggestions guys, just don't leave me clueless over here ♥
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> Now go ahead and enjoy this chapter ♥♥♥

 

_“Find anything to your liking?” Blackhat grates, his eye now the usual bone-white but the deep shadows underneath it seem starker than before. Without a word, you slide down against the wood into a crouch before his feet._

 

 

### 10\. The Unnamable and A Grisly Reminder

 

 

The clock was striking midnight, jerking you out of your thoughts.

You hold your breath and listen in to the silence that follows the chimes, straining your sensitive ears. You're suddenly so on edge that you crush the note in your hand, waiting for the door to slam open and Blackhat to unleash unspeakable horrors on your poor mortal soul because you stayed up outside your room past curfew.

Nothing.

Whatever Flug had been so afraid of, it wasn’t happening. At least not immediately.

With one ear still on the door, you smooth the crumpled note out over your thigh and scan the line of code for the umpteenth time, racking your brain. What the hell had the writer been trying to tell with it, and to whom? They had obviously attempted to hide the message from Blackhat, and sure enough it wasn’t meant for his eyes. But for whose eyes was it then? Had the author tried to leave a clue for an associate? Someone who was working _against_ Blackhat most likely. Or had they meant to return and retrieve it themselves, or whatever that code was hinting at?

Your legs are tingling from sitting for so long and you shift in your seat, perched on top of the last shelf in the back of the library, where you could keep an eye on the door while not getting spotted immediately if someone entered. Or so you hoped.

You dismiss the code for now, since you’re getting nowhere with it, and examine the rest of the note.

_I have figured it out! I know the truth about the one they call Black Hat, about the Crawling Chaos himself!_

    “The one they call Black Hat…” you mumble, “the Crawling Chaos himself…”

So… _Blackhat_ wasn’t the name he had chosen himself? Well, apparently he had deemed it fitting enough to keep and literally work with it. But it was also just as apparent that his original title had been the Crawling Chaos once. You can easily guess where he got the _Crawling_ from, instantly remembering the tentacles and the insect-like features he so liked to scare you with. _Chaos_? Please! The man was an arms dealing, sadistic bag of horror and evilness in a suit and top hat whose hobbies were scaring his employees to death and/or poisoning them for a good laugh, with otherwise impeccable manners; sure, yeah, you could see why he could be considered embodied Chaos.

A creaking sound somewhere in the manor makes you freeze again. Floorboards shifting? A door opening? You can’t tell for sure but decide to finally pull the heavy Bowie knife out from underneath your smelling shirt. Ugh, you really needed that bath, but you don’t want to stop your investigation now! Not when there's likely gonna be a ton of work again in the morning. No, you want to know more, _have_ to know more! If you can’t remember how the hell Sans found out about you leaving the gang, or how you even got here in the first place, then at least you’re going to unravel the mystery around the man in the black hat!

You hear another creak but this time it's farther away and thus you focus back on the code. The writer had been here to hide it… had they also been in here when they actually figured it out? The writing is messy, hastily written, and the note itself covered in drops of ink. Their hands must have been shaking really badly. The paper looks like it’s been torn off a bigger piece - two adjacent sides are smooth, while the other two feel rougher to the touch.

_What if they found the answers right here, in this library? In a book…_

You look at the line of code again: _C.5-S.2-B.15_

    “Oh my God. It _can't_ be that easy…” You breathe and let your gaze wander over the rows and rows of bookcases. They are all numbered, a tiny white plaque on the top edge. You look down again.

_Case 5 – Shelf 2 – Book 15_

Already about to jump down from your high vantage point, you stop in the middle of the motion when the tall, heavy door to the library swings open with a quiet creak. You claw at the dark wood of the bookcase and desperately tighten your core muscles to pull your legs back up without making any sound, your feet kicking at empty air.

You can’t see what’s coming through the door, the bookcases in front of it block out most of the lower part of the dark rectangle, but the thing stops for a second before it closes the door with a loud slam.

And then the lights go out.

The darkness is too sudden, too deep, and  you  curse yourself in your mind that you hadn’t thought of keeping one eye covered for just that case like you normally would! It sucks so hard that you don’t have your gear along with the eyepatch anymore! Now you can’t see shit but you’re dead sure that the one who entered can see very, _very_ well in the dark.

You press into the far corner of the library where the bookcase ends, right beneath the ceiling, and make yourself as small as you can, gripping the knife in your hand tighter, waiting, listening. You realize you’re still clutching the note in your other hand and silently stuff it under your shirt and into the inner lining of your sports bra. Would be a shame if you left any evidence! That someone (or something) who entered must either know that someone is still here because you had kept the light on, or think that you forgot to turn the lights off when you left. If that someone (or something!!) is Blackhat, you don't really know what would make him more mad at you.

Pale light from the moon filters in through the small, dusty windows and you focus on the area around them, trying to use the residual light to help you see in the dark. A shuffling sound lets you freeze. Footsteps on the carpet? Soft breathing? Maybe the sound of a book being pulled out of its shelf?

You hold your own breath to make as little sounds as possible but your heart is hammering in your chest, roaring in your ears. There it is again! A whispering noise like something gliding over the floor, like a snake in the grass.

When you actually see it, you have to press your free hand over your mouth. All you can make out in the darkness is a huge shadow, darker than its surroundings. It's gigantic! The light from outside gets reflected in a dark pair of eyes but they already move away again, into the other direction. The massive creature shivers, uttering a deep, rumbling growl. You feel all hairs on your body standing on end, even the tiny ones along the side of your face.

There’s a sniffing sound coming from it, a wet slobbering, and when the big head with the glinting eyes sways back into your direction and stays, you know that you’re fucked!

On your hands and knees you crawl along the wall of bookcases that's lining three sides of the room, except of course for the side where the door is, and that don't move from your weight so they're probably bolted to the wall and you won’t be able to let one of them fall onto the monster that's coming closer already! You don't want to risk a jump to another bookcase in the middle of the room either, the sound would definitely give you away for good!

You hear it sniffing the air more deeply and suddenly you know why it's making such a beeline for you! Quickly, you open the first two buttons of your shirt and pull it over your head. The stench when you move the blood- and fish-drenched fabric is overwhelming and you throw the piece of ruined clothing into the dead end in the back where the bookcases build a u-shape with the lateral wall. Another growl, more excited, and you crawl along the wall of shelves, away from the stinking shirt. The fine layer of cold sweat feels freezing on your skin now that it's exposed to the air but you keep going along the wall, slowly but surely crossing the length of the huge library and getting to the front.

When the monster lumbers past, right below you, you stop dead in your tracks and keep your eyes glued to the hulking shape. It doesn't notice you. You chuck the dirty rag you're still carrying into another corner and then you climb down the bookcase, feeling with your tabi-toes for each shelf until you notice the soft carpet under your feet. You can hear the creature grunting rapidly now and then the sound of fabric being torn apart, so it must’ve found your shirt already.

By now your night vision has improved massively and you run over the carpet between the bookcases towards the door, your rubber soles making no sound on the thick runner. Something heavy bumps against one of the shelves in the back and you clench your jaw to keep from screaming. Suddenly you stop and look up the side of one of the bookcases in the front part of the library.

5

 _Shit!_ , you think, already knowing that you’re probably going to regret this, and clamber up the shelves to the second one. With narrowed eyes you try to count the books in the darkness even though the tiny voice in your head notes that these books might not be in the right order anymore, and the increasing sound of lumbering steps doesn’t make it any easier!

_Fourteen… fifteen! Gotcha!_

You rip out the book and promptly lose your balance from the heavy, unexpected weight. With a shocked gasp you throw the knife away from you and try to twist in the air, but you still crash onto the side of your back, of course right on the not fully healed branding. Your pained groan gets swallowed in an earsplitting, triumphing roar, and then the adrenaline already shoots into your muscles, makes you scramble to your feet, grab the book and knife you dropped, and throw yourself through the door which, thank the heavens, is not locked.

The creature howls behind you but you kick the door shut and run for your life, run towards the elevator and slam your hand on the button to your floor. Only when the door closes do you realize what a stupid idea that is; the monster probably doesn’t care about the rules of tag and that you consider your room to be a safe spot where it shouldn’t be able to get you! It can open doors for fuck's sake!

But you can't run from it all night, you're exhausted! And what else could you do, ask _Blackhat_ to whistle it back? He’d probably let the monster eat you in his office for all he cared. Plus, the book is freakishly heavy, unnaturally so! If you have to carry it around through the entire manor, you won’t…

The elevator stops with a soft ding and you press into the corner next to the door, waiting, listening for the monster. You can hear it further down, not on the second floor anymore, plodding down the stairs. Had you actually managed to shake it?!

You sneak out of the elevator cage. Your bedroom is just ahead and you creep along the paneled wall to get to it. Just two more meters now… one… your hand wraps around the knob and you swiftly enter, carefully closing the door all the way and turning the lock with a satisfying _click_. Then you lean against the polished door and press your forehead to the cold wood. The branding on your back puckers and pulses in the cold air of your room from the fall and you clench your teeth against the pain, slowly returning into your body now that the adrenaline subsides.

    “I thought I told you to finish all your tasks _before_ midnight.” Blackhat growls behind you, _right behind you_ , but you don’t even have any energy left to jump from the start. You just twitch, caught, and hike up your bare shoulders against any incoming blows, yet none rain down upon you.

What takes you even worse by surprise is the light, almost gentle touch of a hand, placing itself over the branding beneath your bare shoulder blade, right at the hem of your sports bra. Now you flinch in earnest and shiver at the waves of goosebumps racing over your skin, that itches like it wants to curl away from the touch, and you press closer to the door but there really is no room to escape this.

    “Well?” Blackhat adds, his voice still leveled and unnervingly soft in the darkness but you can _sense_ the furtive edge lurking deep inside. He's just waiting for you to tell him you failed, waits patiently for his green light, to tear you to bits and snatch your soul. You’ve seen monsters stealing human SOULs before, when a monster gang wiped out a rivaling group of humans. Would it be like that? Would he flay your lifeless husk to steal the light from within? You knew what color your SOUL was, Frisk had-

Your train of thoughts stops so abruptly that you freeze, your eyes snapping open, staring, aghast, at the dark lines in the shiny wood, Blackhat entirely forgotten.

_Frisk?!_

The hand on your back suddenly digs sharp claws into your skin and you cry out at the pain, dropping the knife and book in your hands but before you can fight, Blackhat has already buried his free hand in your hair and pulls your head all the way back until your eyes meet the glare out of his. It's red and glowing, black veins streaking the eyeball around the needle-thin pupil.

    “You seem to have forgotten that it is a very _bad idea to make me **repeat myself!**_ ” He thunders, twisting the claws that are still hooked into your flesh. You scream out now, hoarse and agonized but somehow your hand manages to reach for your back and pull the scroll out of the waistband of your pants.

    “But- but I did!” you pant in confusion, swallowing against the cruel stretch of your throat. “I finished all of them Lord Blackhat, here! I- I thought you knew?!” He doesn’t release either one of his holds on you to take the parchment. Instead, a long, black tendril creeps over your bare upper body, coils itself around your right arm and splits into three thinner tentacles at the end, acting like an alien hand to unroll the entire paper still in your clutch. Your breath hitches in your throat, the weird sensation of the cold, wiggling appendage on your skin making you half mad from disgust.

Blackhat hums, disgruntled, and incinerates the parchment scroll with a glare from his monocle. You quickly drop the burning paper that has already turned to ashes once it hits the ground. Thankfully the tentacle retreats as well.

But then he _still_ doesn’t let go off you, instead giving your hair another yank that makes you hiss.

    “Shouldn’t you already know that you report back to your master once you’re finished with a task?” he berates you, the grin returning to his horrible features; you can smell the purple liquor in his breath, the foul stench mixed with a touch of plum.

 _He's still looking for a way to punish me…_ you think, despair seeping coldly into your guts. Think, you had to think! _Think about a way to twist his own words against him and look for the one way out of his trap!_

    “You never gave me a deadline for _that_ , Lord Blackhat. All you ordered me to do was finish all tasks before midnight. So I assumed I was free to report back to you whenever. And I really didn’t want to _bother_ you any more after such a long day of work.” You add with a sweet smile and a bat of your eyelashes. But now that you see him scowling, you can’t help but push your luck and at least get back at him for abusing you again: “I hope you didn’t wait here the entire time, I was merely picking out something to read before I would go to sleep.” You lilt and nudge the book on the floor with your foot, deliberately leaving out the monster you encountered, just to play down the severity of the situation a little more.

Blackhat's growl vibrates against your back and you try to suppress the frightened shiver shaking you. Finally he releases his terrible grip and you almost fall on your ass now that the tension leaves your body. Quickly you spin around and try to move away from him, but the hand that he slams up against the door next to your head makes you freeze again and stare at his face, completely taken aback.

 _Something is off about him_ , you realize. Oh fuck, was he _drunk_? It was already difficult as hell to gauge his reactions when he was sober, you couldn't possibly imagine how to deal with a drunk Blackhat, who probably didn’t have half as much self restraint anymore. You remember the only times you had ever, truly been afraid of Sans had been those when he got drunk off an entire cache of monster-alcohol.

    “Find anything to your liking?” Blackhat grates, his eye now the usual bone-white but the deep shadows underneath it seem starker than before. Without a word you slide down against the wood into a crouch before his feet, pick up the heavy book between you and slowly come back up. One of his eyebrows is raised all the way at you in surprise and his grin has taken on a leery edge. Still not answering, you shoot him a checking glimpse and then look down on the tome the mysterious author had hinted at in their note.

    “The Unnamable Horrors of the Abyss. By Professor Lovecraft.” You read aloud, and again there is a strange sound in the air around you, another echoing scream. When you look back up, you catch the last traces of something moving across Blackhat's face and immediately wonder if he knows what you’re trying to accomplish with that book. Or maybe it was just him making a grimace at your choice of bedtime literature. However, his grin stays.

    “Are you sure that this is the right book for you to read before falling asleep? The author had a very… _vivid_ way of paraphrasing his findings if I recall correctly.” You are way too relieved that he actually takes two steps away from you now as that you really listen to his words.

    “I- I just picked one of the books that were actually written in a human language.” You quickly lie and that makes him chuckle. _Good, at least that put him in a somewhat better mood_. _And got me off the hook._

Yet as if he had read your thoughts, Blackhat frowns deeply once more, at your clothes this time. Or rather, what’s left of them.

    “Those clothes I gave you were expensive.” He growls. “Your debt to me keeps growing instead of declining, tiny thief.”

You scowl back at him and gesture down your disheveled form.

    “Well then don't give me fucking Gucci to wear when I’m supposed to feed _sullage_ to your more handsome version in the dungeon!” You spit back venomously, clutching the book against your chest like a shield. Blackhat's terrible grin gleams in the light from the moon and he takes a step towards you again. His voice is a low, menacing rumble that forebodes only bad things:

    “I will dress you in a gown fit for a Queen to mop the floors on your hands and knees if it pleases me! And if you refuse them, you have my official permission to walk around _naked_. Just don’t bother the good doctor too much then. He’s already behind with his projects enough to let himself get distracted.”

Laughing at your red face, Blackhat opens the door and leaves. You relock it with an angry huff, grinding your teeth. _Asshat!_ , you think as loudly and clearly as you can, just in case that he is really able to read your thoughts.

Then a grim smile curls your own lips. You did it. The heavy tome in your arms is your dusty prize and you take it to the bathroom with you. Your leather jacket is where you left it on the sink’s counter and you quickly stash the note in one of the deeper hidden pockets where it's more protected and not as likely to be found during a frisking.

Again, the all too familiar face rises before your inner eye and you suddenly have to clutch the edge of the counter.

Frisk.

    “Fuck!” you hiss, your throat clenching painfully from the feeling of heartache and betrayal. “Really, Frisk?! You had to go behind my back even after I promised to take you with me? Just to appease him?” The tears are falling already and you can’t stop them, can’t stop your shoulders from trembling either and in your powerlessness you punch the marble counter, again and again until the skin over the side of your fist pops open and a sharp pain in your wrist pulls you back. Angry, you stare at the open wound and your red left hand. _Shit_. That’s going to be sprained for a while.

You slump into a crouch in front of the cupboard and take out the first aid kit you had discovered yesterday on your manic spree. One of the black bath bombs rolls out and bumps against your foot.

    “Yeah, yeah I’ll get to you in a second.” You mumble and pick out a roll of medical tape and a ball of gauze. But you would also need something long and sturdy to stabilize the wrist.

 _The fireplace might have something like that,_ you remind yourself and start by washing the bleeding wound out under running water before dabbing it dry and applying some of the antiseptic tonic. It burns like shit and you clench your jaw. Really not the first time you’ve had to patch yourself back up, and also not the first time the wound was self-inflicted.

After the first layer of dressing you walk back into the bedroom, but stop in front of the desk and pull two pencils out of the drawer instead. More lightweight and straighter than pieces of firewood. You fixate the pencils with care and make sure not to move your wrist around too much while you work.

Back in the bathroom, the cold surface of the marble sink feels nice on your skin and you wet one of the small towels to wrap it around the finished bandage so it can cool the swollen wrist.

    “Alright, now let’s get out of these fucking clothes!” You undress yourself with your right hand and kick your shoes away from you in wide arches. The tight fitting sports bra is a little more complicated to remove but eventually you pull the modified piece of underwear over your head and throw it carelessly into the wet sink. _Meh_.

Once the hot water is pouring into the tub, raising huge clouds of water vapor, you relax a little already, just by watching it whirl around. Then you toss in the bath bomb and smile when the black spreads through the entire tub, dying it like ink. The red glitter mesmerizes you, the heavy scents slowly numb the pain in your body and any other physical sense and, almost immediately, your thoughts travel back to Frisk and you think about all that had happened in the past, the parts you can still remember that is. Yet before you can think of anything in particular, your mind travels back on it’s own, way back. To where it started.

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"Don't Feed After Midnight!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we'll deep dive into our reader's past, or rather a part of it, oh my, what's that all about, huh?? What did you do?
> 
>  
> 
> **Next chapter on July 7th!**


	11. Game of Survival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the up-date to today because I'll be gone until Monday without any means to upload the chapter! So yay, early update guys! Please enjoy!

_“It was supposed to be a surprise. I’d steal you away one night and take you to this nice… to this safe little place, to start a new life.”_

 

### 11. Game of Survival

 

 

The nights in South City were your favorite time. Normal people were too scared of the scum that crawled out of the underground once the sun went down, and wisely stayed in their homes, if they had one that is. If they didn’t, they would probably seek shelter in the countless subway tunnels, like you once had, or even take a risk and look for a place to sleep down in the, now abandoned, Underground, where the monsters had been imprisoned until twelve years ago.

This night was even better than all those before, because _you_ had been picked as the watch to accompany Sans on his trip to meet with one of his informants. The restaurant where he wanted to meet was in the northern district of South City, enemy territory, but his mole couldn’t risk leaving the gang's borders he was spying on or he'd raise the Don's suspicion.

It had been a night about ten years after Sans had taken you off the streets and made you a member of his gang. By now, at the age of roughly 16, you had already pulled a few bigger heists on your own that had pleased your boss enough to decide and take you along for the trip.

You saw the black convertible rounding the corner in the dead of night, recognizing its frame instinctively from the countless times a tall skeleton with spiked, armored shoulder pads had ordered you, unsuccessfully, to clean the chassis. Its headlights went dead and you took another good look down the length of the building you were perched on, just to really make sure you hadn’t missed anything. The backstreet behind the restaurant was still abandoned and quiet and you had even scouted out the apartments in the shabby neighborhood around it. No sign of mafia goons, spies or finks that were working for Don Perelli.

To signal just that, you flashed the small torch in your hand at the car in the secret code of your gang. Slowly, the car crept forwards and you snuck over the flat roof towards the fire escape. Your wiry, lithe body barely made a sound as you dropped down from handrail to handrail, catching your fall every time with cat-like reflexes.

Down on the ground, you wiped your fingerless gloves on your pants and pulled down the zipper of the black leather jacket you had stolen not a week ago. The fit was still a bit too big for you, but you hoped that all this new training (running over roofs, escaping from cops and heroes alike, all the while hauling bags of stolen goods) would shape your still growing body to fill it out.

The car doors opened with a soft _thunk_ and a dense cloud of red cigar smoke poured out of the passenger side. Sans Gaster emerged from it, putting on his black fedora, and stomped the cigar butt out with the heel of his shoe. He was wearing his favorite, dark woolen coat over the usual three-piece suit that made him look like a huge mountain of black lava stone.

The stare out of white pin-prick lights inside his empty eye sockets pierced you where you stood but your skeletal boss was grinning widely as always. You noticed the second car slowly rolling down the alley, filled with his goons that were armed to the teeth but would wait for their signal. Sans raised two boney phalanges to wave you closer and you immediately tensed on the inside.

    “Place is lookin' clean, boss.” You reported and shoved your hands into your jacket's pockets, fingering the stolen throwing knives you kept hidden inside them as of late. You still had to figure out a way to hide them better and make them more easily accessible at the same time.

Sans’ grin widened but his eye sockets narrowed as well. Not good! But Papyrus, exiting the car under a lot of coughing and waving of his hand, saved you from whatever the shorter skeleton, who still towered over you by a good foot, had planned for you.

    “CURSES, BROTHER!” he shrieked. "I TOLD YOU A THOUSAND TIMES: NO _SMOKING_ IN MY MAGNIFICENT CAR!” his voice was as piercing as always and you tried to mitigate its impact by tensing the muscles around your jaws and ears, taking the worst of the force from the sound this way.

    “relax, paps.” Sans had rumbled in his deep baritone. “’s not gonna kill ya, bro. lemme have my vices, huh?” Papyrus huffed at that, crossing his lanky arm-bones over his puffed up chest, red pupils scanning the back of the restaurant, sneering at the trash cans. He was grumbling something about spaghetti under his breath, what was still louder than normal talking.

Now that his brother was dealt with, Sans focused his beady little white lights on you, repeating the come-hither motion with his ring-laden, bony fingers that glinted in the moonlight.

    “c'mere ________, doll. ya ready for the **bone** -anza?” He chuckled as if he had just made the funniest joke ever. You snorted and his grin widened. It was still amazing that he mistook your derisive noises as positive responses to an unfunny pun he made.

    “Sure am, bossman. You think we're gonna get trouble?” you asked in turn, nodding towards the black van parked behind Papyrus' convertible. Sans shrugged his massive shoulders as he pulled out another cigar and bit one end off to light it with a match, red smoke soon billowing around him in their usual, skull-shaped patterns of ambient magic.

    “ya can never be too prepared, dove. remember dat. paps, ya set? aight, lessgo gang.” With that he rapped the bones of his knuckles against the back door. It opened a slit wide but when the human behind it saw the two giant boss-monsters, the door was immediately opened all the way, the kitchen hand bowing deeply to Sans as he quickly pocketed the hush money the big skeleton mobster handed him.

Before you exited the back room to cross the actual restaurant, Sans stopped you with a hand on your shoulder, pointing the lit end of his cigar into the darkness to the side.

    “see that flight of stairs? leads up to the catwalk over the stage. i want ya up there, an' i want ya sharp, got it? any fucking movement i ain’t gonna like, any shady bis goin' on in the back, ya sound the motherfuckin' alarm. if you don't…” the bones of his huge hand squeezed the vulnerable flesh of your shoulder and you nodded quickly.

    “Roger that, bossman. I fail, I fly.” You ground out between clenched teeth. Sans chuckled and released your shoulder after giving you one last little shake.

    “from the highest place in town. good birdie. now get goin' or i make ya.”

You raced up the stairs, soundlessly and alert, orienting yourself for a second around the attic room before you zipped up your jacket and dropped into a low crouch on the balcony, carefully testing the metal catwalk holding the big lights above the wooden stage. From up here you were even able to look behind the curtain and see a few musicians and singers talking quietly in the dark.

 _Not important_ , you reminded yourself and swiftly crossed the metal framework until you were right above the table where your boss was being seated by one of the waiters. Like a hawk, hidden from prying eyes by the glare of the lime lights, you kept your gaze on everything and everyone, observing every patron and scrutinizing the staff members.

Soon enough the informant, a human you only knew as Lenny, arrived and sat down at Sans' table. Even from up here you could tell that he seemed extremely nervous, paranoid even. Something was wrong. Had the Don he was spying on caught wind of something? But then the band started to play, drowning out every bit of the conversations. You shot the musicians an annoyed look.

Suddenly there was a tiny noise _behind_ you and you spun around, fast enough to see a shadowy figure come back on their feet. They stopped when they saw you, shaking their head and recoiling towards the stairs. You didn’t waste a second, jumped over the metal beams as fast as a cat and simply knocked the person to the ground with your own weight, pressing a blade to their throat.

    “Who the fuck are you and who are you working for?!” you hissed into their face. They stared back at you, afraid, but there was a bit of iron determination in their expression when they shook their head.

    “Okay, you asked for this…” you scoffed, drawing your fist back to punch them unconscious. But then they pointed towards the other end of the metal catwalk, to where the curtain was.

    “It's an ambush. They were talking about taking out the skeleton all day! I came up here to hide but then I saw you and-" You had stopped their scared rambling with a hand over their mouth, already back on your feet, and snuck over to the edge of the wooden balcony. There, in the darkness behind the curtain, you saw the good two dozen Mafiosi, pulling automatic weapons from the musicians' cases. The loud music was effectively masking the noises.

Without hesitation, you tore the tiny attic window next to the stairs open and whistled sharply between your fingers. Immediately the side door of the van was thrown open and Sans' armed guards jumped out into the street, storming through the back door.

Wheeling around, you had to push the stranger away from the window and into the farthest corner, gesturing at them to stay put. Then you jumped onto the catwalk again and peered down into the restaurant where all hell had broken loose. Sans and Papyrus, having heard your sharp alarm, were already engaged in a fight with the attackers. The skeleton brothers were a force of nature on their own already, but together there was nobody who could stop them. At least no normal human. They were _boss_ -monsters after all and no common Froggit or Moldsmal.

Sans was throwing the men around with a lazy wave of his hand, the other casually stuffed into his pocket. Another wave, and a wall of bones pierced the ground from below and the poor fools, not fast enough to dodge, with it. Papyrus flung his summoned bones with incredible speed, mowing down his opponents as if he had manned a Gatling gun. The backup squad was busy fending off the attacking staff members but all in all, it looked like the fight was already over.

    “Hey uh…”, you heard the stranger stammering behind you and wheeled around, a throwing knife in your hand. They raised their hands in defense and flinched back. “I – I just wanted to know if Lenny was working for _your_ gang?”

You narrowed your eyes in distrust and lifted the knife a little higher.

    “What's it to you, coward?” you spat. They looked back and forth between you and the stairs.

    “He- uh- he kinda set this up? I’m sorry, he paid me to hide the weapons, I-“

You weren't paying attention anymore, wheeling back around to the open room. Lenny was a traitor?! And he was currently…

    “Sans! Behind you!” you screamed over the loud shots of the submachine guns and your boss reacted. Too slowly. Lenny pulled a gun out of his coat and pressed it straight to the skeleton's sweat-drenched skull. You saw the desperate mask of anger and mania on his face and knew that he would kill Sans!

Your knife hit him right in the crook of his neck and he dropped the gun, writhing on the floor in agony for a second before Sans’ foot crushed his skull into a gory paste of blood and brains. The monster lifted his head towards you. One eye socket was pitch black, the other one filled by an eerie, floating eyeball that flickered red and golden.

All around them the gang dealt with the last stragglers, rounding up all those that had surrendered to question them. Papyrus dusted off his black suit and nodded towards his brother. They had the situation under control.

A blink, and Sans was suddenly standing on the balcony right behind you, looking down at the chaos of blood, corpses and broken furniture.

    “an' here i thought we would have a _nice_ chat for once. good job, doll. nice move with that knife, too. saved my hide down there.” He said, surprised, slapping you good-naturedly on the back with enough force to almost throw you off the catwalk. “how’d ya figure it out?”

You turned around, just in time to catch the little snitch trying to sneak down the stairs again.

Sans lazily turned around when you flew over the handrail and slammed them into the brick wall, pulling their arms onto their back.

    “This right here _vermin_ , boss.” You drawled in a thick southern accent and turned your head to the skeleton.

    “No, no please let me go! I won't tell anyone, but please don't let him-" the stranger stammered under their breath, trying desperately to get away from Sans. You put them off with a wave of your free hand.

    “Relax, he’s not gonna kill you. You helped us. Without your warning I would have reacted way too fucking slow. And we return favors like that. Right, boss?” When you turned back around, Sans had a razor-sharp bone in his giant fist, nudging his head to the side; an order for you to step away. Your eyes narrowed in defiance.

    “ _Boss_. They told me about the ambush. They didn’t have to. An' yet they did. You wanna ignore that?” Despite the absolute murderous look in Sans’ single, blazing eyeball that was directed at you, you didn’t step away. And despite the future punishment you sure as hell were in for, you didn’t drop your glare either. Sans looked away first, huffing an annoyed breath.

    “fine. ya got a name, runt?” he growled, letting the bone vanish, and you released their arms so they could turn around, but kept yourself positioned between them and the stairs, in case they still wanted to bolt.

    “F- Frisk.” They murmured. Sans' brow bones furrowed as if the name sparked a memory.

    “frisk? frisk…. aw shit, ain't ya the kid that fell into the underground twelve years ago?! i knew ya looked familia’. gee, ya were a lil shit... not gained an awful lot of weight since then, too, huh?” the rising chuckle made you roll your eyes in reflexive response. _Don't._ You just thought but, of course, he did.

“ya lookin’... awfully… **boney**.” And then he dissolved into bellowing laughter.

Frisk pulled a more than miserable face, shooting you a look that could’ve easily meant: _why the fuck didn’t you just kill me right then and there?!_ You just laughed flatly, more about your own hopeless situation with this asshole and his bad puns. A shame Papyrus hadn’t heard that one. He would’ve agreed with you that this was undoubtedly a new low for Sans.

When your boss had caught himself again, still wiping red tears from the corners of his eye sockets, he opened his arms in Frisk's direction.

    “aight, kiddo, i’m actually owing ya one since ya broke the damn barrier for us. so, ya gots two options here: _uno_ : you join my gang. _due_ : ya fly. what’s it gonna be, pal?” he offered with a mean grin. Frisk shot you another nervous glance, clenching their fists.

    “I- I fly?” they repeated cautiously and you shook your head, shoving your hands back into your pockets and kicking little stones off the ground.

    “Don’t. He's gonna throw you off the highest building he can find-" you warned. A giant fist of bones promptly crashed into the pit of your stomach and you folded over Sans' arm like a wet sack. Your breath was just gone, your solar plexus out of order, and you could only lay on the ground where he dropped you and try to get any air into your lungs before your brain ran out of oxygen. The pain would come later, you knew.

You heard Frisk’s shocked intake and then the cracking of huge knuckles somewhere over your head.

    “ruin my surprise again ________ and you’ll wish i just punched the living shit out of ya next time.” The mobster boss rumbled in barely suppressed anger, giving your miserable form a nudge with the golden tip of his polished shoe. You whimpered your acknowledgement.

    “okay-ah, miss _frisky_. wha's it gonna _be_ for ya?” he asked again menacingly.

    “Um, I- I'll join your gang, Mr. Gaster. Thank you.” Frisk stuttered, their voice thin. Sans grunted and gave you another, harder kick.

    “now, ain't that _music_ in my ears. well, would be if i had any, harhar! dollface, be a good lil birdie and take our lil miss frisky here under ya wing, teach her the ways. she fucks up, you fucked up, got it?”

As an answer you groaned and tried to get on your feet while Sans blipped out and back down into the dining room. Planting your hands on the ground, you struggled to stand up until a pair of slender hands wrapped around your upper arm and pulled you to your feet.

    “Are you okay?!” Frisk asked, concerned, and you nodded, still fighting to get enough air to even function.

    “’s nothing.” You croaked, doubled over and threw up on the floor. Oh. There was blood in your vomit. _Neat-o_. You heard Frisk take another shocked breath. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” To prove that, you quickly stood upright - swaying slightly, but you were standing.

Frisk was gnawing on their lower lip with their front teeth, obviously wanting to say something. When you gave them an inviting nod, they eventually blurted out:

    “I'm- I’m not _Miss_ Frisk, actually, I'm…” they paused, anxious, scrutinizing your every reaction but you just nodded again and waited patiently. “B-but I’m not _Mister_ Frisk either… I’m, it's-” Now their quiet voice was barely understandable as they tried to find the right words, their face turning a deep shade of red.

    “Okay. You don’t have to explain anything, I was gonna call you just Frisk anyway.” You said cheerily and gave them a wink. Frisk looked utterly dumbfounded, their nervous hands falling still now that you had broken the tension so casually. When Sans' roaring laughter rang up from below you they flinched, eyes flitting towards the handrail and the open room behind it.

    “He- he was going to kill me, before, right?” they asked thinly and you shrugged until their narrow brown eyes met yours with a very knowing look. Caught, you nodded, scratching the back of your head.

    “Yeah. Look, he’s a monster, and I don’t just mean literally. But I’m going to protect you as best I can, alright? I brought you into this mess after all by stopping you from getting away, so it's kinda my fault you got tangled up in this.”

Frisk shook their head with a sad expression. Their short, unruly bob swayed around in the fierce motion, creating a brown halo around their head. They were a bit taller than you but with the way they stood, slightly hunched, and dressed in a striped sweater that was at least three sizes too big, their skinny body looked incredibly tiny and fragile.

    “It's _my_ fault. All of this.” They whispered, haunted. You cocked your head and tried to lock eyes with them again.

    “Hey, you’re just a small fry who hid some weapons for a few bucks. It's not your fault this happened, okay?” You tried to get as much softness into your voice as possible, the way you always did with the newest and youngest members of your gang. Even though Frisk looked a little older than you. Maybe 18, 19?

    “No, you don't- I brought them to the surface! _I_ destroyed the barrier!” There were tears streaming down their face now and you recoiled, aghast. Right, Sans had said that they…

“I fell into the Underground as a child, and I- I wish I never came out of it alive.”

In a few, but horrible minutes, Frisk told you how they had fallen and were forced to fight all these monsters in the Underground, where they had been imprisoned for eons, all hell-bent on killing the child and getting their SOUL, and how Frisk's actions eventually led to the destruction of the force field that had kept them all under Mount Ebott.

You listened silently, your eyes widening in sudden understanding. After their liberation from the cave-like prison, the monsters had swarmed the world of humans and settled in in their own, violent ways. And two years later, a massive skeleton had caught you stealing from his gang's supplies, desperate for food and on the brink of dying, and gave you two options: _ya join or ya fly lil birdie. wha's it gonna be?_

For a moment, you stayed silent and let the words sink in. Frisk was wringing their hands nervously but then you shot them a crooked grin.

    “Guess I have to thank you then.” You said, amused at their shocked face.

    “W- what?! But all this violence, the gangs…”

    “Listen, Frisk. If you hadn’t freed the monsters, I would be dead in the streets by now because no human would take me in. Sans did. Even though I am a disobedient lil bitch as he likes to put it. Now I got a place to belong where before I had nothing and nobody. He saved my life.”

Frisk's mouth twisted into a pout.

    “But wouldn't you rather want to live a normal life? Or at least,” they added when you already furrowed your brows at them, “a life that is not under the thumb of someone who beats and abuses you constantly? Be your own boss?”

You had taken a breath to defend the gang, but then the words failed you and you just stared, perplexed, at Frisk, who gave you an expectant look. Sans shouted from downstairs to get your asses down there or he'd leave you two in the northern territory.

 Before you left, you stopped Frisk with a hand on their shoulder, looking intently into their eyes now, your faces barely inches apart.

    “He would kill me if I tried.” You hissed under your breath and for a tiny second, you allowed Frisk to see the pain you were keeping well hidden, the despair and the fear. But then you bopped their shoulder playfully with a smile and trotted down the stairs.

 

Frisk settled in to the gang life more reluctantly than you liked but you kept your promise and protected them from everyone and everything trying to harm them or abuse them. Sure enough you pissed off a lot of higher ranking gang members with that and of course all their complaining eventually pissed off Sans himself.

After the third time he had beaten you unconscious over it, what had lasted for two days straight, Frisk's behavior changed drastically. Suddenly they were the one getting you out of trouble and they quickly displayed such an amount of cunning and determination in getting through each day unscathed, and above that contribute to the gang’s success, that it showed you quite plainly how the fuck they had been able to survive Underground as a child.

On top of that, Frisk had learned a way to use magic. The constant threat of getting killed by the hands, claws or bones of the blood-thirsting monsters had enabled them somehow to tap into a hidden, forgotten human resource. Their own form of magic.

But now, outside the barrier, human magic wasn't strong enough to use it actively anymore. Only the passive aspects, like the SOUL-seeing, were still there and you had been floored when Frisk told you, with red cheeks, that your own SOUL was of a vibrant, almost iridescent orange with streaks of purple. They hadn’t figured out what all the colors represented yet, except for their own, red, which apparently stood for determination, but you thought it was absolutely amazing anyway.

 

The topic of leaving the gang only ever came up again seven years later, when you had secured your own rank as the most prestigious thief and con-artist under Sans' command. Battered and bruised beneath your – now fitting – signature leather jacket, but still cocky and witty enough for the both of you. Frisk had become even quieter, if that was even possible, and worked for Sans and Papyrus as a spy, checking with their magic which rivaling gang boss was weak and could be taken over or which unassuming civilian might actually be a hero in disguise. That eventually lead to Sans seizing control over most of South City's southern and central territories.

If anything, Frisk tried to spend as little time in the base as possible and most of the time you, too, were gone for days, busy staking out profitable houses to rob or tailing rich people in the Uptown districts. _Always a-hustling._

One night you had returned from a stake out nearby, entering the old warehouse building through the roof window like you always did, and slipped quietly into the tiny attic room you had shared with Frisk ever since you brought them back from the restaurant. You had frozen on the spot when you saw them, the very second they stepped off the chair.

    “Frisk!” you had screamed at the top of your lungs, crossing the distance between you in a mad dash, and wrapped your arm around their frighteningly slim hips to hold them up and loosen the rope around their neck with your other hand. Frisk was crying and tried to kick you, tried desperately to writhe out of your arms but you refused to let go even when they straight up punched you in the face.

    “Let go!” they sobbed. "_______, let go! Fuck! Just let me _die_! _Let go_!!” their shrill cry was full of pain, full of hopelessness but you shook your head, your face pressed into Frisk's stomach, and endured the punches raining down on you. Finally your other hand freed one of the knives in your sleeve and cut the rope completely. You fell to the dusty floor with Frisk in your arms and held them, cupping the back of their head with your hand that had dropped the knife, blood seeping into their brown hair from where you had stabbed your own palm.

Frisk could only sob and they clutched the open front of your jacket, unravelling in their despair and fear. You petted their hair, shushing soothingly, and exhaled a hard, shaky breath yourself.

    “I got you Frisk, I got you… shit, you scared the crap out of me…” you mumbled weakly and hugged them even tighter to your chest. “Why… _why_ in the world would you do that?! What happened while I was away? Who-” Frisk sniveled and raised their head to give you a strange look.

    “He proposed to me.” They whispered and your eyes flew open. Before you knew it you were on your feet again, snuck to the door and listened into the nightly noises of the base before closing the door all the way and snapping the lock in place that you had added specifically for Frisk's safety. For a horrible moment you tried not to imagine what would have happened if they had locked the door!

Leaning with your back against the worm-eaten wood, you just stared at them.

    “Fuck…” was all you could say to that. "Oh fuck, Frisk, I’m so sorry, I don't know what to-"

    “He said it was your idea.” Suddenly Frisk was on their feet again as well, fists clenched by their sides, a downright unsettling expression on their usually so calm face. You had never seen such a strange look in their gentle eyes. Then you really registered what they had said and you shook your head in denial.

    “What?! No! Frisk- what the hell, I would never fucking-"

You were shocked into speechless horror.

Over the last years Sans had taken a… particular interest in Frisk and never wasted a chance to corner them and make them uncomfortable with… certain invitations. You thought that he was just bored out of his mind and since he was still one of two people, or monsters rather, who could get Frisk to lose their stoic, calm demeanor, he was just doing it to scare them. Still, it had made you absolutely furious! You deliberately would go out of your way to make sure that his sick and violent focus was on you rather than Frisk to protect them. That his lusting, beady pinpricks for eyes would turn on you instead in raging anger. To keep _your_ Frisk safe.

But now, you didn’t know if that person before you was still your Frisk. The way they held themselves, head slightly lowered as if they were about to rush you, hands balled into white-knuckled fists, cheeks flushed in a pale face…

    “Frisk…” you whispered intently, reaching your arms out for them. Had you lost them? Had you lost the only person you ever, truly loved? “Please…” your voice was about to crack.

Frisk briefly glanced down at your chest, at your SOUL, and you knew that they could see the whirling emotions within your being, could clearly see the feelings that were tearing you up inside and that were just as confusing for you. But you knew that what _you_  felt for them was honest and good.

    “Stop it!” they hissed and dropped their angry stance, crossing their arms over their own chest, hiding their SOUL even though they knew you couldn’t see it. “You know we can’t do this anymore.”

    “Why the fuck not!?” you blurted out, not caring anymore if you woke the other gang members. "Because of that bastard?! You know what you mean to me! You can fucking see it right here!” you stabbed a bloodied finger between the lapels of your jacket. “You know all I ever did I did to protect you and I swear, I haven’t said anything to Sans that would make him _propose_ to you! I would cut out my own tongue before I gave that fucker any ideas!”

    “Do you swear on your life?” Frisk returned, pressed, shivering from barely contained rage. You threw your arms wide open, made yourself vulnerable in a wordless invitation. By now you were sure they had a knife on them that they were willing to use; you could sense it, could tell by the way they moved and how their arms were positioned. You had learned early on to know when someone was down to fight.

    “Yes! Yes, I’ll fucking swear on my life if that’s what you want!” You spat out with a desperate laugh and Frisk's eyes glinted dangerously in the dark.

    “Then why the fuck were you trying to leave _without_ me?!” they screamed and jumped you, a huge kitchen knife suddenly in their hand and their brown eyes flashing almost red. Frisk moved faster than you had ever seen, faster than you honestly had thought they could, but it was still no match for you and you had caught them by their wrists instantly, twisting them so Frisk was forced to drop the knife or get their arm broken.

Your reaction was more reflex than a thought-out process, because your brain still had not caught up with what they had shouted.

    “Leave? What do you-" you sputtered but released them when Frisk struggled against your hold with desperate force. Tears were streaming down their flushed face once more, shining in the light from the moon.

    “No! Don’t you dare play dumb with me, ________! I know you’ve been stashing a part of your share for over a year now! I know about the apartment you bought as your safe-house! No, you don’t get to play the innocent one, when I know exactly that you’re preparing to leave the gang! With. Out. Me! How?! How could you?!” they were sobbing again and you dropped your raised hands completely now, shoulders slumping in guilt and realization.

    “Does anyone else know?” you asked flatly, all anger gone from your voice. Frisk shook their head, a hiccup shaking their frail shoulders.

    “N- no. And I’m not going to tell anyone. Because you’re still my friend. You’re the o- only friend I have. You are like a sister to me.”

 _Ouch, well that was plain_ , you thought, hurt.

    “Frisk, let me explain, I-"

    “ _No_ , it's fine you don’t have to.” They quickly said and wiped their face with the frayed sleeve of their old, striped sweater. “I get it, really. You want out, always wanted out. I would just slow you down. But you know what, _______? I can carry my own very well now. No need to protect me anymore. I’ll be fine.”

    “Frisk…” you implored. "You just tried to _kill_ yourself! If you call that fine then I’m not gonna leave you out of sight for another second! To… to be honest, you kinda ruined the surprise.” You added, kicking at the dusty floorboards. Frisk turned their head around to you in disbelief.

    “I wanted to show it to you. The safe house. Wanted to offer you a nicer place to sleep. I know you hate every second you have to spend here… yeah, you were right back then… I wanted out all this time, but you? You never wanted _in_ in the first place and I made you.” You sighed and dragged a hand over your face, the bleeding one of course that left a sticky trail of red on your skin.

“It was supposed to be a surprise. I’d steal you away one night and take you to this nice… to this _safe_ little place… once I had enough cash and resources for the both of us, to start a new life. The offer still stands, of course! I'll take you with me, I promise! Where do you want to go? You know I'd take you everywhere, Frisk.” You were pleading now because Frisk was already turning away again.

“Please, Frisk… I’m so, so sorry for everything but… please just give me a little more time!”

They had considered you with one last, distant look.

    “You better leave now…” Frisk muttered. “I want to be alone.”

You had stood there for one, two more heartbeats until the pain in your heart, in your SOUL, had grown too much to bear and you  stormed out of the tiny attic, ripping the lock from the thin wall when you threw the door open.

    “I promise I won't tell him.” Frisk had said after you.

 

    “But you did…” you whisper hoarsely, feeling the tears running down your cheeks and mixing with the hot and sizzling black water. "You did tell him and now look where I've ended up. I know, God- I _know_ I’ve put you through hell by making you join the gang, and it's only fair that I get my turn. After all, we return favors like that, don't we? But… it still _sucks_.”

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"Frisky Business"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They be snitchin' yall! 
> 
> If you guys make fanart of this, I really wanna see it, please don't hesitate to dm me on twitter, tumblr, or instagram - @ me, link me, show me your readers!! The name's the same everywhere, so go crazy :>
> 
>  
> 
> **Next Update on Friday 12th!**


	12. I put a Spell on You, You put a Spell on Me

_Opening the book a third time, you ignore the terrifying eldritch monstrosity and try instead to read the narrowly written passages of text._

_The title is enough to make you shiver._

### 12\. I put a Spell on You, You put a Spell on Me

 

 

You take no notice of Blackhat's presence, which he keeps carefully shielded from all your senses as he stands behind you, watching you cry silent tears while remaining motionless in the black water.

Your strong, agonized memories had called out to him like a siren's song, beckoning him to listen, to come and taste more of that delicious pain he's already had a sip of when you were dreaming in the dungeon. The pain is deeply enrooted in your soul, which looks a whole lot different to his many eyes than the limited spectrum monsters and human mages can see in your world. The agony you feel, and that you virtually exude just by existing, is so delicious he finds he craves it more each day. The liquor of distilled, tormented souls was barely enough to sate his hunger for now… and he's almost run out of that already.

He tries to imagine what your soul might taste like in reality. Would it be bittersweet as your memories make it out to be? Or was it rather spiced by the strong, stubborn tenacity and resolve that have kept you from surrendering to whatever life was throwing between your legs?

He licks his pointed teeth, catching the drool that's pooling behind them. Without a single noise, without a stir in the air, he leaves the bath and crosses the bedroom, knowing full and well that the longer he listens, the more time he spends looking at (and salivating over) that _enticing_ soul of yours, the less willing he will be to resist his own gluttony and actually savor its taste when the time comes.

 _Wait_ , he has to tell himself again. To him it's nothing but a blink in time until he can feast, yet… exerting patience while being stuck in a physical form is so _draining_! Time moves much slower in this plane of existence.

And despite the disgusting moments of affection (he tries not to retch aloud) in your memory, he had still followed it with utmost interest as he must confess. A seemingly shallow character on the outside, you keep quite the secrets from the world. Like the many-layered, potent pain that you hide behind a cocky grin and your own bad puns, something you must have adapted from the gross skeleton mobster you previously worked for. Or your selfishness and possessive nature that you hide even from yourself. Oh, but it's only a matter of time until he’s got you all figured out. After all, you’re still only a human.

   “Oh, what the _fuck_?!”

He whirls around at the shocked sound of your voice, his self-satisfied grin immediately replaced by a baffled stare. How in the pits of Hell had you managed to shake the spell he put on you?!

You’re naked; your scarred body dripping with black foam and bath water and with a red glow to it from the scalding temperatures you seem to enjoy, eyes round and wide. In your one arm, with the wrist haphazardly bandaged, you're holding the tome of Lovecraft which you now use to quickly shield your more private areas. He smirks. _Too late, little thief._

    “Get out. Get the _fuck_ out!” you hiss, and now he notices the knife you’re clutching in your other hand, bobbing up and down like you're instinctively estimating its weight and how best to throw it. He knows you wouldn’t miss your mark.

    “Sleep.” He commands, monocle flashing. A tremor runs through your entire body that jerks up and then grows stiff as a board, dropping knife and book onto the wet carpet. Your eyes are still opened, if now half-lidded, staring into nothingness. He had known, from a similar incident the night before, that you wouldn't be paralyzed enough by the bath bombs alone that he'd left specifically for you in the cupboard, so this time he had placed a spell on you as well to be able to indulge in the smell and sight of your soul without any interruptions.

Annoyed, he erases yet another fraction of your memory; plucks it right out of your tiny human brain, just like last night, even though he doesn’t really want you to lose that delicious moment of fright. Your pain and the horrors he uses to scare you down to the core, they all shall serve as ingredients to transform you into something else, something better. Something _villainous_.

But he has to be more careful, has to make all the right moves and diligently drive you into the right direction without scaring you off. Otherwise that dreaded hope and light you still _somehow_ carry threaten to make a goddamn hero out of you! And that would be a waste, a _crime_ , he is not willing to stand for!

Blackhat pauses in his musing and one of his shadow-tendrils picks up the heavy book you dropped with ease. He scrutinizes you. He knows that you didn’t just pick that book by accident, no. You must have found something that pointed you in this particular, this dangerous direction. But what he doesn’t know yet is whether you will be able to piece the puzzle together on your own from here on. And what you will eventually make of the results, if you even have the mental strength to thoroughly search the book for answers. Yet another facet of yours he has unveiled and laid bare, and that had surprised him: he had not expected you, a common thief and lowlife without any sort of proper education, to be so studied and interested in detective work or unraveling the occult mysteries.

Did you even know what had happened to your parents? How you ended up as an orphan in the first place, left to survive in the gutter of a city so vile he would love to take a leisurely stroll through her darkest alleys some time?

Sensing another opportunity to groom the darkness inside you, he makes a mental note to push you into that direction as well, to have you uncover the truth about your own origin and the horrible secret behind it.

The Crawling Chaos takes a last, deep breath next to your neck, and in your sleep you smell intoxicatingly afraid, as though your body was still aware of what was going on around it, and reacted more accordingly. The way you _should_ act around the likes of him…

 _Scared_ to _death_.

 

-

 

You open your eyes and look right at the bedroom ceiling. With a forceful exhale through your nose, you close them again and groan quietly.

 _Not again!_ , you think, and now your concern for your poor brain has settled in for good. It's still nighttime, you can tell by the darkness outside your windows, but in the morning you’ll kick down the door to Flug's lab, first thing, and demand he runs some tests on your skull! Before that’s not cleared up you ain’t gonna do shit for his Lordship! As his employee you must have some sort of basic health insurance that doesn't involve stitching yourself up.

You throw off the blankets and switch on the light above the huge king size bed. Your body is still covered in crusted edges of foam, as though you had stood up from the tub and went straight to bed. Yet something heavy is digging into your side and you realize that one of your fingers is stuck inside a book. Curious, you look at the thick tome you had taken from the library.

Without pulling your finger out from where it is stuck, you hoist the heavy book onto your stomach and open it at the page you’ve trapped your digit in. Let’s have a look at what you were reading before you fell asleep, or unconscious rather. The flaky, yellowed pages fold apart sluggishly as if the book had been dipped into sticky glue. Your eyes promptly widen at the inked sketch that's basically lunging at you from between the dense lines of handwritten text around it.

The image is so horrible, so absolutely mind-rattling that you close the book immediately, clasping a hand over your mouth to muffle your startled yelp.

_What the actual fuck?!_

Carefully, as if it were able to bite your fingers clean off, you open the book again, revealing the terrible depiction inch by inch, and try to fight the upcoming sickness in your stomach. Whoever drew this either had a mind so utterly destroyed you don’t even want to imagine under what circumstances they had envisioned something so gruesome, or they've had mad guts of titanium steel, and a brain to match, to be able to look at this entity for long enough to sketch it in that amount of details.

It's horrifying. You try to come up with a better word, a _fancier_ word you might have read somewhere, but when you strip it as clean as you can, it is just that. Horror incarnate. The creature is just a misshapen mass of… limbs? Or… eyes… there's some trunks… a mouth- no, two? _What_?

The lines of the sketch seem to move whenever you try to focus on one section for longer and define the shape, the black ink distorts and twists before your eyes and after a minute you have to close the book once more if you don’t want to puke all over your own bed. Not that there was much you could have spat out, anyway. You were well used to famine, to have no food for days and weeks, and your body knew how to deal with it. Luckily, over your last years in Sans' gang, you had even managed to get a little softer around the edges, so you probably won't die by your body running out of fuel to burn.

Now dying from going insane, however…

Glancing at the book's lid, you try to imagine if seeing that image for the first time had perhaps been enough to knock you the fuck out and delete all the traumatic memories from your mind to protect it.

You shake your head. No way. It was just a sketch!

Opening the book a third time, more determined to keep it together, you ignore the terrifying eldritch monstrosity and try instead to read the narrowly written passages of text. The title is enough to make you shiver, however, and cast a checking glance around you.

_Azathoth – The Nuclear Chaos, Daemon Sultan, Blind Idiot God – His awakening will destroy everything._

    “Yaaaay…” you lilt sardonically, suddenly not sure if it is really worth risking your sanity just to find out what the fuck kind of creature Blackhat really is. But… maybe there's a way to speed things up!

Groaning from the weight, you flip the entire book around and open it from the back, looking for an alphabetical index. And you find one.

    “Alright, C… Cataclysmic Armageddon… Catharsis Vivae… come on… aha! Crawling Chaos, page…“ Excited, you sit up in bed, crossing your legs underneath the book and flipping the pages until you reach the one before the Crawling Chaos. And the one after it. “Wait, what?!” you utter, confused. The pages are missing! It's not visible on first glance, but deep between the other pages you see the cut remains of parchment.

“Figures…” you huff and flop backwards into the pillows, dragging your hands over your face. “Can't be _too_ easy, huh?” Sighing tiredly, you stick your right hand under the pillow next to your head and suddenly feel the handle of the Bowie knife bump against your fingertips.

Immediately you’re wide awake, alarmed out of your exhaustion. Because even though there is obviously a part of your memories from the night missing, be it because of an aneurysm or sleepwalking, there is one thing you would never do, no matter what state of mind you were in: place a knife on the wrong side of your sleeping place!

You sit up again and fling the pillows away from you one by one until the black, leather-wrapped handle sticks out against the white of the sheet. It is indeed on the wrong side! And in the wrong position, too! There is no way in hell you would go to sleep with your knife out of place like this, not even when you’re drunk off your ass! That was one of the earliest reflexes you adapted: being able to pull a blade on anyone while also in the only position you're comfortable sleeping in - curled up on your left side with your right hand underneath the pillow beside your face, fingers lightly wrapped around the handle of the knife as if it were the arm of a stuffed animal, ready to slice every danger open with one good slash while protecting your vital organs.

The way the knife is placed now, it's entirely useless to you!

Something stirs in your mind, like a tape that wants to rewind and play but can’t because someone’s cut a piece out of it. But you don’t need it to know that this _someone_ had been inside your room and messed with your stuff! And if that someone happened to be wearing a black top hat, you don’t wanna know what else he might have messed with!

You can’t possibly sleep now; you swing your legs out of the bed and run over to the bathroom. The light is still burning, and there are a few wet footprints left on the tiles that haven’t fully dried yet. The water had been drained from the tub but the heavy smell of the bath bomb still lingers in the air, so you were still somehow able to drain the tub when you got out.

But of course you don’t find anything, no clues or evidence. Yet it could only have been Blackhat himself. You doubt that Dementia possesses the means to alter your memory and Flug's gadgets probably would have left some sort of trace. No, this smells suspiciously like _magic_.

 _Alright,_ you think, weighing the knife in your hand, _Change of plans. First I'm going to kick down Blackhat's door and ask him what the fuck he thinks he's doing and, if I survive that encounter, I’m kicking down Flug's door and force him to scan my brain. And if those scans show that Blackhat fucked up my grey matter in any way… I’ll probably die trying to kill him either way._

You sigh and return to your bed. There's nothing you can do about it at this moment, so better to get some odd hours of sleep before the throwdown. With the knife in the proper place now, sleep comes twice as easily and the quiet lament of the violin merges into your dreams, in which countless tentacles and shadowy figures lurk around you.

Frisk is there, too, the rope back around their neck, balancing precariously on the backrest of a chair, and they regard you with that cold, distant look while you try desperately to run towards them. Until someone stabs you from behind and you fall to your knees. When you lift your head, there are two versions of Frisk. The second one stares at you with a crazed smile, red eyes and flushed cheeks.

 

 

When you wake up this time in the late morning, you already know that you’re not alone - and by now you know that this means your company is _not_ Blackhat, with or without a disguise, for once.

Opening your eye a tiny slit, your vision is immediately filled out by a mass of green color. You groan.

    “Please tell me you brought pancakes?” you say, muffled, into the pillow and flex your hand slightly. The knife is still there, in your hand, where it belongs. Dementia burps and plops down on the edge of the mattress right next to you. You reflexively tense your entire body and wait for an attack, but the crazy girl just snickers.

    "Yeah but I ate them all since you were still asleep. The bear made them with _blueberries_.” She sneers, smacking her lips. You can indeed smell the pancakes on her breath and groan again.

    “You realize I haven’t eaten in over a day?” you complain and just as you expected, Dementia only snorts at that.

    “Aww are you gonna cwy wittle baby?” she cackles maniacally and makes baby-noises at you. “Widdle baby thiewy-beewy oogoogoo!” A broken fingernail pokes your cheek when you turn away from her and onto your back, uttering a humorless laugh.

    “Very funny, Demmy-Dummy.” You shoot back.

    “Hey!” she protests immediately. “I’m not dumb! I'm way smarter than you!”

    “ _Sure_ you are.” Now you scoff for real and roll completely out of bed, already so done with the day that you don't even care about being butt-naked. Turning around with a languid stretch, you see that she has her eyes narrowed at you, the one with the enlarged iris looking almost completely yellow that way.

    “You know, it's rude to stare at people who have no clothes on.” You point out and demonstratively gesture down your naked form, your other hand propped on your hip. Dementia rolls around and sits up with her legs crossed, shrugging.

    “So? I don't care.”

 _Great._ You sigh and suddenly desperately wish Blackhat had woken you up again. At least he would have brought you new clothes and above all probably would have had the decency to let you dress in peace. And, but this is just a theory, _he_ wouldn’t have deliberately eaten your breakfast!

    “Righ-t.” You try to fight another sigh and amble over to the bathroom door instead. But suddenly you stop in front of the wardrobe, as something oddly stands out to your senses. The big, black lacquered wooden dresser doesn’t look any different than it did yesterday. Yet…

You decide to open one of the doors, halfway expecting Blackhat to jump out and scare the crap out of you again. But then you blink in surprise.

The dresser is filled to the brim with clothes! You spot loads more of the red shirt your new boss already gave you, lots of black and grey, some green and other colors that look pretty muted but elegant. You make a face.

Sure, those pieces are probably more expensive and fashionable than anything else you have ever worn, but because of that, they’re not at all your style and you don’t feel like wearing them for any more lower work. You miss the old trunk full of black leggings, band shirts and soft secondhand jerseys you own. This just looks like you won’t be able to even move properly in them, let alone climb or run.

    “Hey, where'd you get _those_?” Dementia suddenly asks, suspicious, behind you and you shrug with a derogative noise.

    “ _I_ didn’t get _shit_. But I'll probably have to pay them off regardless, so… might better start wearing ‘em I guess.” You ignore her piercing, probing glare and pick out a soft pair of pants that's closest to a legging, and another red shirt. With a horrible suspicion, you open one of the lower drawers with your foot and close your eyes with a desperate internal scream, cursing yourself for being curious. Of course Blackhat wouldn’t forget to also equip you with the _laciest_ of underwear.

Dementia has gone dangerously silent behind you but you can hear her rising growl when you hunker down to rummage through the panties and socks. _Christ_.

    “ _Relax_ , Dee. Your man is just messing with me to make me feel even more uncomfortable than I already am. He’s probably laughing his hat off right now.” You say in an effort to calm the crazy bitch down, picking one pair of panties up by the lace with the very tips of your fingers. If Blackhat was really trying to mess with you, he was doing one hell of a job. If you didn’t know it any better, you would say that the guy had the hots for you.

You shudder at the thought.

When you come back up and turn around, Dementia looks a little reassured, in her own, crazy way. The murderous glint you expected to find is gone, for example.

    “You're right.” She lilts. “There's no way someone as _amazing_ as Blackhat would even think about wanting someone as wimpy and weak as you!”

You give her a thumbs up with a tired smile and go back to the bed to put your clothes on. Luckily Dementia gets bored when you don’t react to her more than annoying presence anymore and leaves by crawling over the walls and through a ventilation grid above the door, kicking it shut with her sneaker.

A relieved breath escapes you and you head over to the bathroom to wash your face and put on your shoes. With the nosy lunatic gone, you retrieve the knife from under your pillow and secure it in your sports bra.

Then you stop, a little indecisive. Nobody has shown up until now to tell you what to do today in order to progress with paying off your debt (and you try to ignore the sinking suspicion that you probably will be working for Blackhat until the day you die and he can finally harness your miserable soul). But no matter how you turn it, the answer is painfully obvious.

    “Guess I gotta ask the boss himself.” You say through gritted teeth. Suddenly you remember that you wanted to confront him about last night anyway, and a part of your outrage returns, changing your reluctance into anger. Huh, you’re suddenly pretty indifferent about the fact that this might be the day that you died.

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"Unspeakable Horrors!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oooooh looks like we're gonna have a little heart-to-heart with the boss-hat next week, wonder how _that's_ gonna go~ 
> 
> **Next Update is gonna be on Wednesday the 17th** so make sure to bookmark YNBFH if you want to get the scoop as early as it gets ♥


	13. I like Trouble

_“Blackhat mentioned that you can’t get the relic yourself because of your powers… care to elaborate what those are?”_

_A mischievous grin splits his lips and he cowers down a little._

_“Thought you’d never ask…”_

 

 

### 13\. I Like Trouble

 

 

Halfway down the stairs to Blackhat's office, you can already hear muffled voices through the tall ebony door at the end of the hallway.

 _Crap_ , you think, angry. _Do I really risk causing a scene when Flug's in there, too?_

Your already low mood declines even further as you walk up to the door and pause for a moment to listen. Not very polite but fuck manners anyway.

The first speaker is Blackhat, obviously, but he doesn't sound even remotely as irritated as usually and the second voice makes you really prick up your ears and blink in surprise.

You don’t know that voice.

So, was there maybe someone in this house you had not met up to now or were there actually people from outside suicidal enough to enter this manor?! Driven by your burning curiosity, you knock once and push the door open without bothering to wait for a response.

Blackhat is leaning against the front of his desk, arms crossed, shooting you an especially livid glare across the room upon your rude entrance. But your attention is quickly captured by the white-haired man turning around to you, looking just as surprised as you are to see him.

    “Oh, sorry Lord Blackhat, I didn’t know you had a… a _guest_?” You try but the very second the words are out of your mouth, an invisible, hot hand clutches your throat and chokes you. Blackhat's single eye looks completely red now as he lifts his physical, glowing hand from his chest and the cruel force around your throat pulls you off your feet in turn.

    “I don’t know if it is pure stupidity that you _still_ try to lie to me, or if you truly are a closeted masochist who enjoys being punished.” He comments with a sinister chuckle while the invisible force drags you through the air and towards the two of them. Blackhat drops you nonchalantly onto the floor and you gasp for air, tears stinging in your eyes. When you look up to glare at the demonic businessman, you notice that the stranger has grabbed his left bicep, dark eyes flitting nervously between Blackhat and you. So he knows the tender touch of your boss' hand as well?

    “I’m well aware that you were eavesdropping, little thief.” Blackhat continues with an irritated growl while you move to stand up and massage your aching throat. You shrug, deliberately playing the punishment down both to take a jab at Blackhat and to show the newcomer that you're not scared of the big-bad-hat-man.

    “Thought I'd give it a try. Might learn what's giving me away. And to be honest, I thought you were talking to Flug.”

You try to keep your expression in check when there's no immediate reaction to your little lie and instead turn your head to scrutinize the stranger from up close.

Even though he seems barely older than you, his hair is completely white and surrounds his deeply tanned, fox-like face in a wild mane. His  eyes are so dark they appear almost black as he returns your stare. Both his forearms are bandaged up from the hands to his elbows and he's wearing a long, purple vest with golden, ornamental details over a sand-colored top. You notice that he's still clutching his left upper arm.

    “Hi, I'm ________!” you suddenly introduce yourself with a bright smile and shove your right hand into his personal bubble. He's so taken off-guard that he automatically lets go off his arm to take your hand and shake it, revealing what you had already suspected: a top hat branding, much older than yours and healed into a bulging, gnarled scar. So he's the third person in the entire… multiverse? who had been marked by Blackhat. Which makes him a member of the organization like Flug, and now yourself. Now you’re _really_ curious.

    “Uh, hey, I’m Vi-… Call me _Void_.” He catches himself and quickly lets go of your hand as if you had burned him. From the corner of your eye you notice that the skin of his bare arms seems to glow with a purple sheen but decide to act like you didn't see it or his obvious unease.

    “ _Void_ , huh? So, you’re a villain or something?” you ask instead, honestly intrigued. Yet his brows immediately furrow and he puffs up his slim chest.

    “Professional super-villain, actually?” He stresses arrogantly and your smile falters instantly, giving him a bored look.

    “ _Never_ heard of you.”  

Blackhat grinds his teeth next to you with a bone-rattling noise, pinching the bridge of his non-existent nose.

    “If you don't quit your bickering…”

Void flinches and virtually snaps back to attention while you shoot him a mean grin.

    “Oh, by the way, Lord Blackhat, I wanted to ask you what my tasks are for today. You know, since I still have a debt to pay off and I really don’t want to _unnecessarily_ overstay my welcome here.” You get to the point and watch with a lick of tension how Blackhat's expression darkens into an even deeper frown.

    “Well, since you’re obviously entirely useless for something as simple as maid-work, I have decided to put your actual skills to the test.”

    “Want me to catch some more knives?” you blurt out with a laugh and now get an actual shocked gasp out of Void. Blackhat just grins at you and for a second you expect him to indeed chuck another huge knife right at your chest from point blank range. Or maybe reach for the warhammer on the wall.

    “If you're really that eager to part from your soul then yes, I might use you for target practice later. No, you are going to steal something for me, little thief. Something small that he,” he nods his hat towards Void, “is after but cannot get himself due to the volatile nature of his powers. I will alter the object for him, for a _price_ of course.” Blackhat adds with a stern glare in Void's direction, who nods quickly.

You rub your hands, eyes glinting in excitement.

    “Oh hell yeah! Just give me some gear and send me on my way, boss!”

    “Not so fast you insufferable nuisance! You will work under his command.” Blackhat snaps and now it's Void's turn to shoot you a smug grin as your face drops into an open-mouthed gape.

    “He's… what? No! Fuck no! I’m a solo-artist, I don’t _work_ with people! Let alone work _under_ people! If you haven’t already noticed, I have a problem with authority figures! No, not gonna-" before you can finish your outraged speech, Blackhat rises up before you, transforms into a gigantic, horrible version of himself and grabs you with one massive, clawed hand that wraps around your entire body, threatening to break every bone inside you!

Red flames shoot out of the floor and a spray of green saliva rains down on you when he roars: “ ** _You will do as I say or I will tear you limb from limb, revive your pathetic body and do it all over and over and OVER again, until there is not even a single photon left of your miserable soul!!”_**

You might have actually passed out for the fraction of a second, because the next thing you're aware of is you lying on the floor, arms and legs drawn to your body and a more human looking Blackhat bending over you from where he stands, a lenient, but still absolutely evil grin on his dark face.

    “So tell me, little thief… _wha’s it gonna be for ya?_ ”

The way he says it, the fact that he knows _how_ to say it, and the way his voice distorts to say it, makes you tremble on the floor and just nod in speechless horror. How the fuck does he know about Sans' favorite line?! Did he read your mind? What else does he know about you or does he just _know_ everything?!

    “Marvelous. Now; doctor Flug will fill both of you in on the details of this mission as I am very busy.” Blackhat ambles over to the overfilled bookshelf on your left and grabs a golf bag. With another menacing grin towards you, he vanishes into the ground.

    “Fucking bastard…” you cuss under your breath and cover your face with your hands, wiping off the fine layer of cold sweat. You hear Void stepping closer and immediately peek through your fingers, alert. He has his hand extended to you, a bewildered expression on his face.

    “Are you out of your mind? He was this close to murdering you!” he exclaims, pulling you up onto your feet when you grab his hand. The two fingers he's holding up for demonstration are touching each other. You shrug and dust off your pants.

    “Oh, this? He does that all the time. Never broke a single bone in my body up to now. He's pretty much been handling me with kids gloves so far.”

Void just stares at you like you are indeed insane. This close to him, you notice that he has a beauty mark on his right cheek and that his left ear is pierced. Then he shakes his head and turns to the door.

    “Well, we better head down. Don't wanna keep the good doctor waiting.” He mutters the last part and you hurry to follow him, your curiosity still very much piqued despite the escalation from just now. If you had to pick one real strength, you would choose your unbreakable spirit. It made you pretty much indestructible against all odds. Well, until now at least.

While you're waiting for the elevator to take you down to Flug's lab, you throw Void a few glances. He seems much more relaxed now that Blackhat's gone… golfing, you guess. He probably even has a black golf cap somewhere underneath his other hats! The mental image makes you snicker to yourself. Void looks at you. He’s pretty much your height, maybe an inch taller or two. Minus the crazy hair of course.

    “So, how did you get into the organization?” he asks and you make a face.

    “Oof, that’s a pretty good question.” You reply and he gives you a confused, but also amused, shake of his head.

    “What? You don’t _know_? You just… iunno, showed up here and _bam_ , Lord Blackhat himself decides to make you his student?” The second the words are out, his eyes widen in realization and he gasps, slapping a hand over his mouth. You blink at him. And then you explode:

    “His… his _student_?! I thought I was doing all this stupid work to pay off my _debt_ to him!” you groan and rub your face. “Ugh! I- yeah, I woke up in his study a few days ago. Someone had thrown me through the window and knocked me out. So I was actually trespassing and at first he wanted to get rid off me, I guess, but the next day he made me sign a weird contract that I didn’t even read because it was so tiny and he was- augh, what the fuck?!”

Void regards you with a commiserative expression.

    “Oh man, he really tricked you? You didn’t know what he was planning?” he shakes his head again. The elevator dings and you storm out of the cage, pissed.

    “Tch. You make it sound like it’s easy to understand _anything_ he does! I can't believe it, that _asshat_!”

The fact that Void can’t help but guffaw at your nickname makes you a little less angry.

The door to the main lab glides to the side with a hiss and the fluorescent lights glare you after the dimness of Blackhat's office. Flug is working on a giant robot with top hat that’s lying on one of the metal stretchers, sparks flying from the small angle grinder. Must be one of those Hatbots he’s threatened Dementia with.

You wait until the din stops for a moment before you call out to him to get his attention.

The scientist lifts the face protector off his paper bag and sets the grinder aside, greeting Void and you with a nod.

     “Ah, there you are. Lord Blackhat informed me already about your briefing. But I’m afraid you will have to wait a few days before you can even hope to get into _that_ particular facility, since I still need to finish a few tools for you. Don’t give me that look, _______, you _can’t_ get in there with just a few lock picks!” Flug adds when you already roll your eyes.

The sooner this is over the sooner you'll be on your own again to figure out a way to get rid of the tracker in your neck to have a bit more freedom, and to take your revenge on Sans. Constantly being kicked around by Blackhat is already bad enough, you don’t want to have to work _under_ someone else on top of that. Least of all someone who actually insists on calling himself a _super-villain_! What a pompous prick.

    “Yeah, yeah. So, what’s it we're looking for and what are this _particular facility’_ s defenses?” you retort, crossing your arms in front of your chest and blowing a loose strand of hair out of your face.

Before Flug can answer your questions, Void pipes up instead, excitedly pulling his phone out  of his vest to show you the image of some sort of old looking bracelet, resting on a white pedestal within a glass case.

    “This! It's an ancient relic and said to hold the power of teleportation! It's currently being exhibited at a museum but only for another week before it'll get locked away inside an underground bunker again.”

You glance up and notice the absolutely livid glare Flug shoots Void across the table for interrupting him, but the villain already continues: "I had initially planned to ask Lord Blackhat himself to get me the relic, or an army of Hatbots if that would he cheaper. He then told me that he was currently trai-…” suddenly Void realizes he’s about to just blurt out some more things you’re not supposed to know, and above all in front of Flug, and he quickly clears his throat.

“He… said that a thief was currently working for his organization and he would be willing to put you into my services in order to acquire the ring. That way you would further pay off your… debt and I only had to pay for the… enchanting.” He coughs again nervously and you catch yourself grinning at him. Void seems awfully prone to rambling when he’s excited.

    “Fine by me,” you say, and your grin widens. “Hey, have you ever _monologued_ a hero to death by any chance?”

Void's tanned face turns a deep shade of red and you hear Flug snicker gleefully. That purple gleam is surrounding the villain's arms again and now you deliberately stare at them, raising an eyebrow when you realize that the glow is actually coming from inside his skin, slowly making it look translucent.

    “Blackhat mentioned that you can’t get the relic yourself because of your powers… care to elaborate what those are, exactly?”

A mischievous grin splits his lips and he cowers down a little, spreading his arms apart.

    “Thought you’d never ask…”

Suddenly there's a forceful pull behind you, a low noise, and you barely have a chance to hold onto the metal leg of the Hatbot before your feet are ripped off the ground and pulled into the air. You look up and spot a solid black disk floating in the middle of the lab, sucking in everything not bolted to the ground. Pencils and papers and even a chair. And apparently you as well!

Your hand slips on the sleek chassis and you gasp out in actual fright, when Flug slams his hand on the metal table and the terrible black hole vanishes instantly.

    “That's enough, Void! How many times have I told you not to unleash your black hole ability in my lab?!” he shrieks. Without the galactic force holding you up, you fall to the floor, the impact knocking the air out of you. When you come back up, Void looks sulky and rubs his bandaged arms.

You're still trying to catch your breath and stare openly at him. While humans couldn't actively use magic outside the barrier, there were some in your world who had gained special powers due to its destruction, namely heroes. But this? You had never encountered someone with that amount of power!

    “What the…” you mutter. “What _are_ you?” He sticks his chin into the air and looks down on you along the curve of his nose.

    “I already told you. I’m a super-villain, trained by Lord Blackhat himself and you better not forget it again.”

    “And _you_ should know the punishment for wreaking havoc in my lab!” Flug hisses, pulling out the remote you’ve already seen him wave at Dementia in a threatening manner. Void gulps and shoots the Hatbot on the workbench a nervous look.

    “S- sorry doctor Flug, I was just- it won't happen again, I swear!” the young man stammers, raising his hands defensively and you suddenly think that you must be pretty good in Flug's book. At least for now. _Better not get on his bad side_ , you think to yourself. _Or steal that remote so he can’t use the Hatbots against me_. You memorize the design of the remote and where exactly Flug puts it back in his coat. Just in case.

    “I’ll let it slide this time… but don’t think you can do whatever you want in here just because you're a professional now. This is still _my_ terf, boy.”

The fact that Flug knows street lingo makes you blink and stifle a snort in surprise.

    “Okay, are you done?” you interrupt and get back to the point. “So. You can summon black holes. Cool. Why can’t you just, you know, suck the relic out of the museum?”

Void pulls a face and crosses his arms in front of his chest, summoning a tiny black hole within the palm of his hand that immediately pulls on your clothes again and messes up your hair. Flug takes a scandalized breath but before he can actually explode, the mind-boggling phenomena disappears.

    “Because it would do just that. And then the relic would be lost in space somewhere. Irretrievable. Well, at least for me.” He sighs. You want to already shoot the next question but he gives you a crooked, knowing smile. “Yeah, I know. The power is pretty good for leveling entire cities and destroying armies of enemies, but for elaborate detail work? Forget it. Which is why I want this relic in the first place! With its teleportation ability, I could turn my black holes into portals!” He sounds more excited now again, and you nod. It actually makes sense.

    “Alright, I see where I fit in here. Get the relic out of the glass case. No problem.”

    “Not so fast!” Flug snaps, exasperated by both of your youthful, disrespectful spirits. “You seem to have forgotten a tiny but very crucial detail, _______!”

Void nods in your stead: “Right, the security measures…”

    “Exactly. Now, pay close attention. I still have a ton of work to do and thus no time to repeat myself!”

 

 

Despite his complaints, Flug takes half a day going over the museum's defenses and the scans his Hat-drones have taken of the outer and inner layout, complete with a schematic circuit plan to visualize where the single security systems were hooked up to. That wasn’t a museum, it was a bloody fortress! So the relic was legit. The real deal. Probably worth a _ton_.

In your mind you were already sketching out a plan of attack. Where you could enter, how to disable the security systems that would give you the most trouble, and routes you could use to avoid the many security guards the drone had registered.

You were more than amazed by Flug's work in that short amount of time. It would have taken you a week alone to get this much intel on the target! And even then you still wouldn’t have the entire wiring of the building to aid you!

Void would create a distraction outside the museum once you were inside, triggering the first line of defense: an entire lockdown of the building so that nobody would be able to get in or out. You had gotten him to agree to attack at night, when no visitors were inside the building. Upon his disappointed pout and complaint that he would prefer to take a few hostages, you had argued that more eyes would also mean more trouble for you to actually steal the relic unnoticed, which he had eventually considered a relevant point.

Besides, you hadn’t felt comfortable at the thought of being trapped in a locked building with hundreds of panicking civilians. Or endangering other people unnecessarily, but you were smart enough to not voice those concerns out loud in front of an evil scientist and a super-villain with yet another super-human power to obliterate you without breaking a sweat.

After you had all agreed on the general plan, Void left through a portal Flug opened for him with one of the huge machines standing around in the lab. The villain announced he would be back in a few days to get you and the tools Flug was working on and steal the relic. You couldn’t deny that you were more than envious when he just walked through the whirling portal of light and was gone. Back to his own evil scheming and not forced to stay in this hellish hat of a house.

Flug had given his back another angry stare even after the portal had closed again, and shook his head.

    “Never understood why Lord Blackhat bothered to make him a professional under his personal supervision… a hotheaded, undisciplined brat.” When he turns to you, his glasses reflect the light from above.

“But that stays our secret, alright?” There's something in the cheery way he says it that makes you nod immediately, reminding yourself once again that while Flug may not look like a malicious genius, he sure as hell could get him out when he thought it necessary.

However, there was still the issue with your brain, and whatever Blackhat might have done to it the night before!

    “Um… hey, doc?” you say and Flug turns back around to you, lowering the angle grinder he picked up.

    “Hm?” he does. _Fuck it_ , you think.

    “It's just… I keep losing… _moments_ , especially at night. You know, like… I’m in the bath one second and the next thing I know is, I’m in my bed with no memory of how I got there. I just thought… you know, since I got banged up pretty badly when I got here…” You hate the miserable sound of your voice, hate to talk about your weakness, but it seems to be working: Flug’s eyes widen behind the dark goggles and he grabs your arm to pull you into another part of the lab.

The next second, you’re pushed onto a medical stretcher and let Flug run countless tests on you. He shines a flashlight into your eyes, looks into your ears and nose with a little microscope, tilts your head his way and that, and finally he puts you through a big scanner that’s not only loud enough to give you a headache but also so tight you feel reminded of the huge claw that had threatened to squeeze you into paste a few hours ago.

But eventually he’s done and flips through the pages of results the machine spat out. You stay sitting on the scanner's couch, your fingers playing with the buttons of your shirt. When Flug hums thoughtfully, you already fear the worst, but the scientist shakes his head and shrugs.

    “Your brain looks completely normal. No clots, no bleeding, no aneurysm… there is no _medical_ cause for your…” he seems to realize it then and spins around to you, the stack of paper shaking in his gloved hands.

    “Yeah.” You utter. “I figured as much. Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t actually my brain that’s taken worse of a beating than I thought.” With that you jump off the couch and crack your knuckles, already about to storm out of the lab.

Flug grabs you by the arm.

    “D- don't!” he whispers imploringly. “If- if you really value your life, your limbs, your _sanity_ , you better not-"

You grab his hand and gently remove it from your arm. A crooked smile plays around your lips and you shrug.

    “I don’t think he’s going to _kill_ me, Flug. If he managed to train someone like _Void_ for years without killing him, I’ll be a-okay with a bit of bitching in his face.”

You turn on your heel and leave, your brisk steps carrying you through the lab too quickly as that you're able to hear Flug muttering:

    “No… but you’re going to wish he _did_.”

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"Strange Attractions"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, my bad, I had the chapters mixed up, the _next_ one is gonna kill you whoops x'D Sound off if you know the orientation video our new friend is from ;P


	14. Volatile Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> ###  **Warning: Summer Pause!** Next update on the 30th of August

_With one hand he reaches out for your neck and presses his palm to the open wound, the flaring agony enough to make your eyes roll back into your skull. Somehow you still hear his voice:_

_“Have I made myself clear enough?”_

 

### 14\. Volatile Times

 

When you walk into the front hall, you spot Dementia in the hallway that leads away from the kitchen, a huge bowl of popcorn under one arm and something dark covering her free hand, looking awfully close to a hand-puppet. Soon, she’s around the corner and gone. You wonder if she’s going to have a movie night in the small living room you discovered while doing your chores, but chide yourself not to lose your focus and quickly jump up the huge stairs to reach Blackhat's office.

You have no idea if he’s even back yet or not, but something tells you he might already be waiting for you and has somehow anticipated this confrontation. You don’t know if that’s better or worse for the final outcome.

Yet, when you knock on the door, there’s no answer from inside. Only silence.

    “Rats!” you hiss, partly in disbelief, and gnaw on your lip, racking your brain. The little rascal voice in your mind tells you to sneak in anyway and search his office while you still have the chance, but it's immediately interrupted by your common sense, asking you if you’d like some broken bones for dinner.

 _But secrets!,_ the thief in you hisses.

 _But being torn to shreds you idiot!_ , goes the reasonable part.

    “But food.” You suddenly say out loud, silencing both internal voices, and turn on the spot, plodding down the stairs and all but running towards the kitchen. Your hunger has ultimately overwhelmed your brain and now that you have an opportunity to get something to eat and actually eat it in _peace_ , you’ll be damned if you’re going to let that slide! And maybe Blackhat will think twice about doing anything vile to you when you have a stomach full of stuff you could possibly throw up all over his office.

Since you basically know the kitchen in and out by now, you’re soon munching on a tiny mountain of sandwiches, trying to figure out how to best confront Blackhat about the whole situation.

For example, why had he bothered to put the knife under your pillow without knowing how you kept it there usually? You wouldn’t even have suspected anything to be wrong if he had just left it on the sink's counter. Had you already been in bed, still crusted with suds from the bath when he did it? No, probably not! It must have happened right after you left the tub, or even before that...

You suddenly feel sick to your stomach and put the last bit of your sandwich back down.

Had… had Blackhat surprised you when you left the bath? Had he maybe even been _watching_ you?!

With full force your anger shoots back into your body, now accompanied by a wave of nausea that’s almost enough to force the food back out of you, but you reign your rebelling stomach in again and storm out of the kitchen, not caring that you’re leaving behind a mess for 5.0.5 to clean up.

If he’s still not here yet, you’ll simply break into his office and wait for him in there!

Without bothering to knock, you pull the door open and look around the giant room. The man in the hat is nowhere to be seen and you huff a furious breath, walking up to the ebony desk.

    “And what do you think you’re doing, hm?”

Blackhat’s sudden voice from behind you still makes you jump in start, but this time the red veil of your anger keeps you from actually being scared by it. It also keeps you from seeing the danger you’re in.

    "Listen here you creep!” you snarl, whipping around with your fists clenched. _Shit_ , you probably should have thought about switching your knife to the back of your pants first. But it's too late for that now; You’re in full rage mode now and even Blackhat looks a bit taken aback by the force of your fury.

Yet he’s quick to scowl at you when you stomp up to him, actually daring to poke an accusing finger into his chest.

“I know you were in my room last night, I _know_ you fucked up my memory, and I know you watched me taking a bath, like some fucking pervert!” You’re yelling now, underlining each accusation with another harsh stab into his sternum. While you’re not one hundred percent sure about the last part, you throw it in there as well just for good measure.

Blackhat doesn’t say anything when you're done, merely scrutinizes you sharply, his fangs poking over his lip in an irritated frown. You're breathing heavily, your face flushed from anger and embarrassment. The silence stretches and you decide to seize it before he can do or say anything.

Taking a last, daring step closer, what brings you right in front of your boss, you raise yourself up on your toes to hiss in his face:

    “I’ll take your silence as a confession then. Just know that I won’t hesitate to try and stab _both_ your eyes out when I catch you again, _Lord_ Blackhat.”

With that, you step around him to leave, but suddenly Blackhat moves and snatches your wrist in a painful, vice-like clutch. Before you can even attempt to break his hold, his other hand shoots forward and a shockwave paralyzes your entire body.

Blackhat is grinning again, his single eye gleaming with malicious intent.

    “Not so fast, my feisty little thief. I don’t think I gave you permission to leave yet.”

He circles you slowly, tutting quietly behind you. A sharp claw tickles the back of your neck.

    “I don’t know how you thought this was going to play out for you… but I didn’t expect you to be _this_ stupid. You’re starting to disappoint me, _______, you know? And I’m sure you know by now that this is the last thing you want to be doing.” Blackhat says, stilling in his pacing. You try everything to shake the paralysis on your body, try to fight the unnatural force like you had each time Sans trapped your SOUL, but that had never worked either.

Suddenly you hear Blackhat chuckling darkly in your back.

    “Maybe I _should_ have killed you then and there in the dungeon to spare myself the mental agony of dealing with your impertinence… but…” The hand on your nape suddenly creeps over the side of your throat, digging, probing, _feeling_ for your pulse and when he's found it, Blackhat hums in approval, no doubt able to sense the rapid beating of your heart even through his gloves.  

“There's still so much _horror_ I can inflict on your pretty little soul.”

You feel the hairs on your neck stand up straight when he draws closer to you, feel the hot breath against your skin and before you can do or say anything, there’s the vivid sensation of teeth sinking into your throat, tearing into your flesh and slicing your veins open.

Blackhat's gloved hand muffles your piercing cries of agony and you don’t even realize that you’re suddenly kicking and squirming so that he's forced to hold you in place with his other hand. All you can think of, all you are aware of, is the pain in your neck, the hot blood spurting out of it and the sick, disgusting noises from the horrible being behind you, drinking it up, so rapidly that barely a drop makes it to the ground.

You feel your strength leaving you along with the blood, your body growing cold and feeble and when you're already convinced that this is the end, Blackhat tears himself away from your throat with a slurping sound and you fall to your knees. Trying to cover the fatal wound with one hand, you crawl away from him, only to feel multiple black tendrils grab you and pull you back up.

Through the pain, and your incessant, frantic string of pleas to _stop_ , his voice cuts like a knife:

    “Shut up.”

Immediately you obey the command, swallowing the sobs that shake you. Your eyes are wide open and fixed on Blackhat, now in front of you, who looks even more terrifying with your blood smudged around his mouth. His visible eye is completely black, streaked with veins of red, making it look awfully like one of the bath bombs. The green slobber mixes with your blood on his teeth and you feel distinctly close to fainting from the sight alone.

He doesn’t let you, however. With one glowing hand he reaches out for your burning neck and presses his palm to the open wound, the flaring pain enough to make your eyes roll back into your skull. Somehow you still manage to hear his words through the shrill sound inside your head:

    “Have I made myself clear enough, or do you need another demonstration?”

_What?_

When you force your eyes open again, Blackhat is sitting in his tall office chair and you’re standing right in front of his desk. Your hand flies up to your neck but there’s not a single trace of the terrible wound he inflicted on you, no pain. Not a single drop of blood on you or him either. You spin around, look back to the spot where you had tried to crawl away. Nothing.

    “Well?” Blackhat repeats, more impatient already and your head snaps back around, staring at him in disbelief. He’s smirking widely, horribly _knowingly_.

    “That…” you utter, rubbing over the spot where the wound should be. You can still _recall_ the pain. “That was just an illusion? A trick?”

    “A _warning_. If you think you can be just as insolent around _me_ as you were with your former employer… I have some bad news for you.” Blackhat grumbles, steepling his fingers.

“Remember, you need _my_ help to get revenge on him, or have you already forgotten what he did to you? To _your_ Frisk?”

Your knees give and you barely manage to catch yourself on the ebony desk. Blackhat returns your shocked stare with a cruel smile.

    “How…” you wheeze. “What the _fuck_ do you want from me?!” You can’t fight the tears, not when he's torn your innermost self open just like that and spread it out over the table like he was dissecting a rodent for fun. Blackhat leans forward in his chair and wipes a tear from your cheek, making you flinch away from the touch.

    “The real question is, my dear _______, what do _you_ want? Revenge? Money, power, or something entirely else? All _I_ want from you, aside from your soul, obviously, is to stop acting like a common sewer rat and become aware of your own potential! You said you were going to _try_ to stab my eyes out? _Do_ it! There is no _trying_! If you want to _stab my eyes out **do it already**!_”

A scream rips from your chest and you lunge at him across the table, reaching over your shoulder to pull the knife out from under your shirt. Before you can even aim it at his face, Blackhat has dematerialized out of his chair and grabbed you by the collar of your shirt, slamming you onto the desk with enough force to make you see stars. His other hand slaps the knife out of your grasp.

    “Letting your enemy rouse you into attacking so rashly, your first mistake! _Numero dos:_ not coming prepared for a fight! _Numero  tres:_ your sloppy posture! And last, but _surely_ not least:”, he hisses and leans in close to your face, his grin taking up your entire vision. “Underestimating the superior strength and speed of your opponent for the umpteenth time. You failed at all points of a successful one-on-one fight, little thief. At this rate you’re never going to get back at that skeletal pig.”

Blackhat releases the hold he still has on your shirt and you sink back on the desk with a groan, closing your eyes to block out the spinning ceiling.

    “Oh yeah?” you pant, rolling onto your side to hoist yourself up. “Well, you suck at leaving your own crime scenes without any _evidence_!”

Blackhat turns back around to you, one hand smoothing the lapel of his high-collared coat.

    “Again with this nonsense? You really are relentless.” he growls and you somehow find the strength to sit up straight and shoot him a lopsided sneer.

    “The knife. You put it on the wrong side underneath my pillow. That’s how I knew someone had been messing with me! And when I thought about who may have also had the ability to make me forget that I was being messed with… you ain’t slick, boss!” Your victory is only short-lived; Blackhat moves faster than your human eyes can register and is suddenly bent deeply over you again, grabbing fists full of your red shirt.

    “I dare you to repeat that.”

All smugness is gone, he’s _furious_ now and your eyes widen in fear once more, the image of your throat being torn open playing out before your inner eye yet again. Blackhat shakes you when you don’t open your mouth fast enough.

    “T- the knife? The- the one you made me catch? It was under my pillow when I woke up, on- on the wrong side and I would never have put it there because-" He stops your frantic babbling by dropping you back on the desk, his own eye round. He looks… surprised, and not in the good way. Your blood runs cold in sudden realization.

“ _You_ didn’t put the knife there, did you?” you whisper, stunned, and squeak when he clutches at your shirt once more, now ripping off two of the buttons, jerking you up to his face.

    “What else?!” he snarls. “What else was out of place! Speak, or I swear I’ll tear the answers out of your wretched little mind myself!”

Your breath hitches in your throat, the grip he has on your collar tight enough to choke you with the fabric. _Think, think, think!_ What else would he probably not have wanted you to notice?!

    “The book…” you mumble. “My finger was stuck between the pages of the huge book I took from the library! It was about this God, their name was…”

Before you can even get past the second _A_ of the entity's horrible name, Blackhat has covered your mouth with his free hand and looks around the gloomy office, his one lance-shaped pupil alertly traveling over every column, every painting. When nothing happens, he takes a tiny whistle out of his pocket and gives it a sharp blow. You stay where you are, swallowing nervously around the collar cutting into your skin.

Not a minute later Dementia, Flug and 5.0.5 burst into the room, each with a somewhat derpy expression on their face but when Blackhat claps into his hands, mercifully letting go off you to do so, they all snap back into reality.

    “Doctor Flug, I want every  bloody Hatbot in this forsaken mansion to search the perimeter on all spectral levels, _yesterday_!” Your boss snaps and the mad scientists immediately fumbles with the remote, nearly dropping it. “Dementia: you’re to use deadly force against anyone not currently present.”

    “For you, my love, with pleasure.” Dementia purrs, pulling a decorated double-edged axe out of her hair, and finally Blackhat focuses on 5.0.5 with a cruel grin. Flug suddenly averts his eyes and busies himself with coordinating the manor's defenses over his phone.

The blue bear yowls in fear when his Lord and Master raises a glowing hand. Before your eyes, the cuddly appearance of 5.0.5 grows even bigger, furry paws turning into talon-armed claws, his blue pelt transforming into black bristles and his big eyes narrow into the beady, glinting pits of darkness that had haunted you in the library.

The slobbering black mass of a creature snarls and cowers on all fours with its fangs bared. Blackhat points towards the door and the horrible monster bolts through it, leaving behind deep claw marks in the ground.

    “D- do you actually think they’re still _here_?” you ask cautiously and slip off the desk to pick up the Bowie knife.

    “No. Someone who’s able to get past _my_ defenses twice without getting caught is probably also smart enough to get the hell out when I notice someone’s been creeping about. But…” Blackhat's own form surges for a second as he raises a hand to tear the fabric of reality open with a set of long claws. Glowing, ectoplasmic shadows slip through his fingers, howling horrendously.

“They will soon learn that I don’t tolerate _pests_ in my house!”

You swallow and watch Dementia and Flug leave the office as well to search the mansion. You're still a little shell-shocked yourself from the rapid turnarounds of this situation, but something doesn’t quite add up to you yet.

    “If…” you start but quickly shut up when Blackhat turns to you with an irritated growl.

    “Speak up, my patience is already running shorter with every second.”

    “If that’s really the one who brought me here, why would they risk getting caught by you a second time? Just to…” you fall silent again. All the mysterious person did (if it even was a person) had led to you trying to confront Blackhat about messing with you and your memories. It had even made you mad enough to consider _killing_ your new boss.

“This is so weird…” you mutter. You have no idea who could be behind that! Who could have the means to bring you to another dimension and known you would survive the encounter with Blackhat? Why even bother? And why instigate a confrontation you could easily have died from and that had actually resulted in Blackhat admitting he would help you with getting back at Sans!?

    “At least _something_ we can agree on. I don’t suppose you _know_ who it might be that’s soon going to win a trip to a dimension of eternal suffering, do you?” he pierces you with his single eye but there’s really nothing you can do besides shrugging and shaking your head. You feel incredibly exhausted.

    “No, sorry to disappoint you again, sir. So… what am I supposed to do to help catch the slippery bastard?”

    “Go to your room and stay there. Maybe take a bath, I don’t care. But stay out of my way and leave the _slippery bastard_ to me.”

You recoil in outrage and eye him with your brow furrowing reflexively.

    “You- you’re really sending me to my room like some little child? I think the fuck not! I want some answers, too!”

Blackhat shoots you an annoyed glance and snaps his fingers. The next thing you know, you’re being sucked through the floor a second time, the horrible darkness swallowing you like a ravenous pit of quicksand only to spit you out beside your bed on the third floor.

For a second you stay on the ground and stare at the ceiling. Heavy rain patters against the huge windows and the rolling thunder drowns out the agitated noises of Hatbots and -drones, 5.0.5 and Dementia, searching the manor for the mysterious intruder.

You shiver on the plush carpet when you think about the fact that the innocent, lovely 5.0.5 had tried to kill you in the library at midnight, and his transformation explains Flug's terror when you had asked him about it before. That was probably why BH kept the bear around despite his cute and cuddly self.

    “Aah good, I thought you’d never show up, _______.”

Your head whips around at the unknown, static voice that somehow sounds familiar again, and you stare, frozen, into the darkness underneath the bed. A pair of strangely pixelated eyes, two floating white pin-pricks, stares back at you. _A monster_! Immediately you flinch away and want to call out for the Hatbots outside, but something traps your SOUL in that sickening feeling of magic being used on you, and your motionless body loses all color before your eyes.

The weird, garbled voice snickers in the darkness that spills from under the bed and expands until it fills the room, leaving only the eyes to be seen.

    “My, my, you’ve gotten awfully strong little kitten. No wonder my brothers were never able to really break you. I _knew_ you had quite the potential.” Suddenly two skeletal hands appear next to the eyes, then four, and soon your entire field of vision is filled with pale phalanges. Through one of the holes in their palms, you make out a white, mask-like face, slowly closing in on you. The boney fingers move in weird patterns and symbols when it talks again.

    “Aww, you don’t even remember me. Though I suppose it’s not a surprise, really, I was always more _colorless_ compared to my brothers. Let’s fix that real quick, huh? We really don’t have time for long introductions I’m afraid.”

The hands move apart like curtains and now you see the monster itself. A white skull, with crooked, fang-like teeth and a crack running from the top of the right, slanted eye socket back over his skull, and a second one from the left side of his mouth down to his jaw. His body is just a black, undefined mass, surging and sloshing.

And with the parting hands, it’s like a dark veil is being pulled away from your memory.

    _Wingdings!?_

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"Bite me!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, I won't be able to upload for the next three to four weeks; first of, my internet has been shitty af and I need to get a new stick for that. Second, I'll be on vacation from the 1st of August till the 26th! Sorry for the cliffhanger uwu


	15. A Memory Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know I'm annoying, but please do check out the playlist I'm making for this fiction and just tell me what you think of it, even if you think it's garbage, just wanna know mmmmkay? ♥ https://open.spotify.com/playlist/58U5oW8u96CjitxmCX2i8h?si=t8KpkrU2TH2hWvEb0uR_yg

_Without your permission, your train of thoughts returns to what had happened and your already terribly sore stomach clenches once more. He had kissed you_.

### A Memory Lost

 

You stare speechlessly at Wingdings Gaster, stunned by the flood of memories suddenly returning to your conscious mind and with them the realization that he had simply made you forget he even existed! Which automatically makes you wonder just how powerful this monster has to be, if he managed to alter not only a tiny part of your memory, like Blackhat had, but years, literal decades! And important moments, too.

Wingdings cocks his head at your baffled gaping, his mouth splitting into a Jack-’o-Lantern grin. He’s changed so much ever since-

    “Too much? Well, I admit you’ve had quite the wild ride since I last saw you so of course you must be rather overwhelmed by it all. But I think it is rather _rude_ of you to not greet an old friend. And above that an old friend who saved your life.”

    “H-hey uh, hi… what…” you finally manage to utter when you hear the sharp edge in his cynical voice, something you remember immediately to be very, _very_ wary of. “Did… did you take me to this dimension? Why did you take me here-, where _were_ you all these years? We thought you were dead! The explosion…”

    “Ah, so many questions, and all of them the wrong ones, kitty-cat.” Wingdings sighs, his head jerking to the side, glitching out of focus and back in like a defective screen and you flinch at the sight. “The one-million-dollar question would be: _why_ did I save your life?”

    “Why did you?” you breathe and his jagged teeth part unimaginably wide as he laughs resoundingly, a hysteric, hoarse cackle that sounds nothing like his former, smooth voice. His mouth is a pitch-black darkness just like the rest of his body. Suddenly you wish Blackhat was here. Suddenly you wish with all your heart that the eldritch horror your new boss epitomizes would just materialize behind you and tear you away from the dangerous hold the oldest and most powerful Gaster sibling has on you. If not out of worry for your safety, or care, then out of pure outrage over Wingdings's intrusion. Yet, regarding your colorless skin, you doubt that you’re still in the same plane of existence. Would Blackhat be able to find you in here? Or even know where to look?

When Wingdings catches his composure again you tense immediately. He had been the former engineer of the gang and apart from that he had performed countless horrible medical experiments on monsters and humans alike, often creating gruesome hybrids and amalgamations of those too weak to serve Sans and his ambitions any longer. Sometimes for actual science, more often for his own twisted sense of humor. And then, one fateful day, he had run a line of experiments on human SOULs, resulting in a giant explosion that had torn the warehouse next to Sans’ base apart and left a huge crater. You had been one of the gang members charged with sifting through the rubble, trying to find any sign of the scientist’s unlikely survival.

But you hadn’t even found a single ounce of monster-dust between the pulverized bricks.

W.D. jerks you from your memories: “Oh, come now my little kitten, that would be too easy now, wouldn't it? I can’t just _tell_ you and ruin the surprise! Just know that I did indeed save you from my brother’s wrath and that he firmly believes you dead so you don’t have to worry about him hunting you down here.”

    “But why Blackhat? Why leave me here? Why leave those hints? What the _hell_ , Dings?!” you yell, struggling fruitlessly against his disgusting, strange magic around your SOUL that feels so different from Sans’ gravity magic or Blackhat’s powers. Wingdings scowls at you, at the _nickname_ you remembered along with the knowledge of his existence.

    “It’s still _professor_ Gaster, you cheeky monkey. I see you haven’t gained any manners under your new boss either. That’s… actually really funny.” He loses the stern attitude and snickers again, manic and grating. You shiver.

    “What do you want from me? Do you want me to kill Blackhat? Kill Sans? I don’t… I don’t _get_ it.” You stare into his mismatched eye sockets, pleading. “Can’t I just have my normal life back?”

Wingdings coos and runs one of his many floating hands over your face.

    “But you’re _dead_ to the world, my child. You don’t have your life anymore. Only a small opportunity. And I’m curious to see what you will do with it. That’s all. It gets sooooo boring being stuck between the worlds, not being able to really stay in one place for long… Being and _not_ being at the same time. Your struggle has always made me laugh, even before… _this_. It should be entertaining to watch. I-“

Before Wingdings can continue, there’s a tremor shaking the air, rippling through your body, and you hiss at the weird sensation. It feels as though someone had punched a giant glass bowl you were stuck under. A horrible roar resounds from all directions at once and W.D’s eyes widen but his grin stays.

    “Whoops! Looks like I forgot the time, silly me. Bye-bye for now, we’ll talk later- oh, _goodness_!” A giant, gloved hand the size of a truck wraps around Wingdings and crushes the black mass that he is between huge claws, splattering his gooey remains this way and that. The many hands holding you down slowly vanish and your body regains its color as the real world comes back around you. Yet you can still hear the static cackling from the waning shadows, shifting, until it’s coming from inside your skull, and then you’re back _in_ the real world.

Gasping for air and clutching at your shirt, focusing, you try to make sure you’re still in one piece, still with a soul.

But something isn’t right.

Once the sensation really sinks in, you feel terribly violated and a whimper breaks out of your chest before you can stop yourself. He did something to you, you’re sure, there’s something wrong with your SOUL, it’s-

    “Tell me what happened!” But even Blackhat’s barked order doesn’t reach you this time. You’re too shaken, too far gone by the distinct sensation of something _sticking_ to your soul like tar.

    “Shit, he- he did something to me, I can’t breathe, I feel-, I feel-!” you gasp out in clipped sobs, clawing at your chest. With an irritated scoff, Blackhat grabs you by the neck, tips your head back and seals your stammering lips with his. The sheer shock makes you freeze on the spot and hold your breath in terror. You expect the sharp sting of fangs, thirsty for blood, or the foul taste of rotten plum again or a _tentacle_ , but the only thing you notice is that his forked tongue feels strangely _good_ against yours. But then, things do go beyond weird.

There’s something else pushing into your mouth, nothing physical you think, it feels more like a ghostly hand, but it goes deeper, way deeper than even possible and now you do fight it, or try to at least since Blackhat’s own powers are holding you firmly in place. Tears sting in the corners of your eyes from the sickening sensation of that strange appendage _touching_ something deep within your core, something that is not supposed to be _touched_ but, after a few heartbeats of unadulterated horror, the disgusting feeling of being tainted, of your SOUL being stained and covered in something sticky, goes away with every second Blackhat’s ghastly touch lingers.

Then he suddenly jerks his head back and shoves you away with enough force to push you against the edge of the bed, where you promptly slump down on the mattress, staring at Blackhat with your eyes opened widely in… you don’t even know what you’re supposed to be feeling right now. Terror, that he violated your body in a way you never thought possible? Grateful, since he freed your SOUL from Wingdings’ disgusting residue? Aroused, because-

You quickly shake the thought and shudder with your eyes clenched shut. _No! Don’t even think about allowing something like that! What the_ fuck _is wrong with you!?_

    “Whoever he was, that incompetent idiot has made his last mistake!” Blackhat says, interrupting your mad spiral of desperation, his own voice sounding completely normal. Yet you can’t help but think that there’s a tiny amount of disappointment reverberating in his strange accent. You frantically hope it’s his missed chance of bodily ripping Wingdings to shreds in the physical realm. It has to be! It can’t be the other way round. It can’t!

    “Wingdings Gaster.” You manage to croak out and notice the fresh layer of cold sweat on your forehead, sticking loose strands of hair to your skin. “He- he’s the oldest of them, used to be Sans’ science expert. D- died in an explosion from an experiment on human SOULs, or- or so we thought. He- he made me forget he _existed_. I only just remembered him now.” Talking distracts you from the leftover feeling, shifts your focus to something else than the reality that's slowly settling in. Talking seems good right now!

“He was the one who saved me from getting offed like I was supposed to after Sans found out I was preparing to leave the gang. Brought me here. Left me hints that you were in here, messing with my mind.” Suddenly you can’t take it any longer and raise your head, immediately wishing you hadn’t.

Blackhat is staring unswervingly at you, the dark, deep creases under his visible eye somehow looking even more pronounced than usually. There’s saliva glistening on his lips and the huge teeth poking out between them. He looks terribly _hungry_. His glare is resting on your chest, on your-

    “Were you trying to steal it? When you were here the night before?” you whisper and push yourself further away from him on the blankets, his gaze never leaving you. “That’s against the rules!” It’s only a faint protest, an almost childlike objection, and you’re not sure he even cares about _rules_ at this point, but you actually manage to utter it. And Blackhat _flinches_.

For another moment you hold his piercing glare that's shot up to your face at your protest, see the thoughts virtually crossing his mind, and already fear he might just be too starved for souls to give a flying fuck anymore, when your boss finally takes a step back, literally distancing himself from you, and straightens out his black coat.

    “No need to concern yourself with that any longer; it won’t happen again.” He growls and adjusts his tie, already turning away from you.

    “You mean,” you call out after him, jumping off the bed and clenching your fist around the Bowie knife you’re still clutching, “next time I simply won’t _notice_ that something happened?”

Blackhat looks back over his shoulder, the monocle glinting unnaturally in the shadowy space between his coat's collar and the brim of his top hat. And while you can’t see it, you can _hear_ his wide grin in every rasped syllable:

    “ _Precisely_.”

You watch him leave through the door and only when it’s closed again do you run into the bathroom next door and sprint to the toilet, already tasting bitter acid in your throat. You never thought violently throwing up could feel so cleansing.

 

-

 

It takes a whole while before your stomach has calmed down enough so that you’re not constantly dry-heaving anymore. Exhausted, and with your cheek resting on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor, your still very agitated mind immediately drifts back to what happened, no matter how much you try not to think about it.

Wingdings.

So he had somehow survived the blast that had been strong enough to render an entire building flat. Well, survived would be a stretch, considering the amorphous black mass you had encountered and that had been glitching in and out of your vision like some sort of screen malfunction, his once quiet and smooth voice reduced to a shrill cackle of insanity. Even his face, although uncannily familiar, had changed drastically. The mask-like skull had looked like a horrible shadow of his former, actually not that bad-looking self.

When you had still been a rookie in the gang and, by extension, everybody’s gopher, Wingdings had often made you work in his lab, handing him this or that, cleaning up the mess his experiments usually left behind or fixing him another coffee at 3 am. Back then the scientist was a tall, stern skeleton monster - taller than Sans but still dwarfed by Papyrus - who stayed calm and coldly analytical even in the most chaotic of situations, and you had quickly realized that, most of the times, he was actually the one pulling the strings from the shadows, with Sans and Papyrus acting out _his_ plans and not the other way round. His clever schemes would have actually been more than enough to catapult the gang to the top of the city within a year, but Sans’ impulsive, selfish nature had foiled Dings’ plans over and over and eventually, the oldest Gaster had focused more and more on his own projects rather than trying to control his younger sibling.

None of you knew where he was suddenly getting the human SOULs from.

Wingdings had already been feared by all of the gang members, and even you were smart enough to keep any snarky remarks to yourself when he was within earshot, but when he began to work on and with SOULs, everyone made double-sure to keep their distance to the building next to the base where he moved his rapidly expending laboratory to.

And then things had gotten even stranger. Wingdings must have had found _something_ during his experiments, because not a year later, you had been somewhat around 18 or 19 at that point, he ordered every human gang member to undergo a line of tests that involved multiple machines and devices reminding you of rudimental x-ray screens you had seen pictures of in books.

A shiver grabs you when you think back to that one day, that day in his lab where he had shoved you into a narrow glass tube with countless cables and screens attached to it. Other than most gang members, Wingdings had never hurt you before, whether as a punishment for being clumsy or just because he felt like it. So you had been cautious, but not exactly afraid for your life. In fact, you were pretty sure you were good in his book, not least because your constant insubordination towards Sans and Papyrus clearly amused him.

    “Um… can I ask you something, Dings?” You had piped up, remembering too late that he absolutely _hated_ that nickname, and the way he had narrowed his eye sockets at you, you already regretted mouthing off like that while being stuck in a tube you didn’t know the purpose of yet, but then one of his many floating hands had rolled around, gesturing for you to spit it out already.

    “What- what exactly does this machine _do_?”

His purple eyes had narrowed again but this time in an amused, if also a little sardonic, smile.

    “Why, don’t tell me you’re actually interested in science, little monkey! While I’m impressed that you still manage to sneak out to break into the library every chance you get, I’d be surprised if you were actually keen on acquiring a scientific degree.” He had said with a dark chuckle, activating the machine and typing on the installed keyboard. “Hah, but I guess you were a pretty decent lab assistant back in the day, so I’ll indulge you, kitten. This machine is going to scan your SOUL, that’s all.”

You had frowned.

    “Scan it? But I thought you could already see our SOULs. What’s different about this then?” Despite your unease, you were still intrigued by everything involving SOULs, ever since Frisk had told you what yours looked like and that monsters were crazy for human SOULs since absorbing them gave them incredible powers on top of their magic, which was the main reason the monsters had been able to push humanity back so quickly despite not being particularly resilient against physical attacks themselves, and despite the heroes emerging among the humans. That knowledge would eventually lead to you trying to kill Sans with just a knife in his own office, but back then, you had still pretended that this gang life was all you ever wanted.

    “It will allow me to look _deeper_ , to shine a tiny light into a place that's darker yet _darker_.” Wings had told you mysteriously with a fanatic gleam in his eyes, his skull eerily illuminated by the monitors in the otherwise dark room. You had gulped nervously. The other gang members, as well as Frisk, who had already been tested by Wingdings hadn’t experienced anything odd or painful during the process, and the scientist had shooed them out of the lab without as much as a word, only a short grunt that had sounded more disappointed than anything else.

But when he had scanned _your_ SOUL, his entire demeanor changed. With a mad grin he had clutched the monitor in front of him, his eyes almost popping out of their sockets, and that had been the first time you heard him laugh this crazy cackle that was still ringing in your ears even now. “Yes, yessss!!” he had hissed, his other floating hands typing, adjusting and moving so rapidly you had barely seen them. Your heart leapt into your throat at Wingdings’ sudden, unbridled excitement and you had halfway expected him to slice you open and take your SOUL then and there, but not a minute later he had released you from the tube and ushered you out with only a very disturbing pat on the head, humming in satisfaction.

Shortly after that, his lab had exploded and then… you don’t even know at which point you had lost your memories of Wingdings. But you recall that neither Sans nor Papyrus, or anyone else in the gang for that matter, had ever brought him up after that as well. So, was it possible that Wingdings Gaster had not only erased your memory of him, but everyone else’s, too!? Just what had that explosion, or the aftermath, done to him to make him so powerful and yet so undoubtedly mad and detached from reality? So _lost_?    

Dings had said that he was getting bored being stuck _in between the worlds_. To be and not be at the same time. But what had he meant by that? And where were you fitting in in all this? Where did Blackhat? Had he really just been doing this to entertain himself because he couldn’t return to his former life as well? Out of pure _boredom_?

You frown, wishing the sick maniac would have gotten the chance to tell you more than just the few lucid scraps in between all that crazy snickering. And with the state your mind was in right now, you couldn’t really muster the mental capacity to piece it together in order to form a logic explanation. Or any for that matter.

Without your permission, your already derailed train of thoughts returns to what had happened after Blackhat destroyed Wingdings. Your abused stomach clenches once more in repulsion. He had _kissed_ you. With _tongue._ No doubt Dementia is going to kill you three times over if she ever finds out about this! You’ve had discovered some of her drawings about her and BH when you had been cleaning the mansion, and her intentions were very, _very_ clear.

But if you left that out, horrid as it may be, what had he really done? He had somehow reached out and touched your SOUL, your very essence, over that more than gruesome contact. And he had merely removed the strange residue of Wingdings’ magic that had felt like it was polluting your being, and for that you felt grateful. Yet, he had told you barely moments before this whole disaster started that all he wanted from you was your _SOUL_. So… what would have happened if he hadn’t managed to tear himself away from you? Now, that really is something you refuse to think about any further! You’d rather drown yourself in the toilet.

With a groan you stand up and shuffle over to the sink, pointedly avoiding to look at your own reflection in the mirror. You can well imagine how absolutely dished you must look right now, from throwing up for what had felt like hours and from having your SOUL groped by some horrible demon entities twice in a matter of minutes!

The cold water washes away sweat and dried spit from your chin, making you feel a little more human again. A little clearer.

There’s no doubt that Wingdings had known more about Blackhat than the other way round, which is already disturbing in itself. He left you the clue within the book, had literally pointed you to the terrible entity that Azathoth embodied. But… Azathoth was not the Crawling Chaos, who Blackhat allegedly was, according to the mysterious note you found, which clearly had not been written by Wingdings; even in his sloppiest notes the scientist's handwriting could only be described as _clean_. So, Wingdings must have been watching you in the library when you discovered the note, from the shadows, like he had in your room from under your bed. Just as he had watched Blackhat doing _something_ to you and decided to point you towards his secret visits. _Ugh… bunch of creeps, the lot of them!_

Suddenly you turn around and stare at the bathtub. You remember now that Blackhat had told you to _maybe take a bath_ back in his office while everyone else was searching the mansion. And when he had first shown you your room, he had explicitly mentioned the bathroom as well. Now, it could be a coincidence but… every time you had lost a waking moment up to now, it had been while _taking a bath_!

    “The bath bombs…” you whisper in sudden realization. Slowly, you open the cupboard under the sink and take one of them out, removing the paper around it. The heavy smell of amber and other strange substances hits you like a physical punch again, numbing your senses. _Amber_ …

With a retching sound you chuck the black orb away from you with all your strength. It hits the wall and explodes in a black and red cloud but you’re already out of the bath and pull the door close behind you, gasping for fresh air.

Your thoughts have returned to the lounge, to that horrible moment when you had thought the disgusting drink Blackhat gave you would melt your guts and he was looming over you, close enough to feel his hot breath against your face.

He had also smelled of amber. Hidden beneath all those other scents but you clearly remember it now. So, whatever he did to make you forget, he had only ever done it while you were taking a bath with those fucking bath bombs!

    “Yeah, fat chance I’ll ever use those again. Or anything in that stupid cupboard!” you hiss into the dark room. You had allowed Blackhat to lull you into a false sense of security. And he had told you himself that you were as far from being safe than never before, now that you were working for him.  

It was high-time you took this seriously!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surpriiiiiiise you get another update before I'm off to vacation-land, how you like _apples_??? 
> 
> I somehow whipped this puppy up in a blitz, after watching the third season of Casa del Papel on Netflix and SHRIEKING at that horrendous cliffhanger, I realized what you musta been going through when I said byebye last chapter x'D so ye, have the epic conclusion of that sumbitch, hope you like it!
> 
> Thank you guys so much for all the lovely comments, I really can't put into words how much will to live this gives me ;_; even those of you who comment every chapter (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE I LOVE YOU!!!!) I really hope I can keep you entertained with what I have planned for this fic! 
> 
> Now, I leave you for real for August, I'll see ya round buckos ♥♥♥


	16. Play With Fire

_Raising the mirror you found in the cabinet, you briefly glance at your face - white as a sheet even in the warm light of the fire, with dark circles under your eyes and dried blood around your lips._

 

 

### 16\. Play with Fire

 

 

While you're trying desperately to make sense of what had happened, Blackhat is beside himself with rage. Not that uncommon for him, granted, but this time it is caused by something so rare an occurrence he can count the times it had happened before, during the eons he already existed, on one hand and still have fingers left.

He is furious at _himself_. Because for a moment, for a split second, he had almost given in and had thrown his own principles to the wind. To think that he had almost yielded to his hunger for a glorious but short-lived moment of satiation, and in doing so waste the potential chaos you could have wreaked in his name! He had underestimated the impact something as insignificant as a human soul could have on him. And it made him _mad_. Mad enough to consider giving way to that anger in one or the other terrible way and destroy a galaxy or two.

But he couldn’t leave. Not now. He couldn’t leave and risk that this insolent shadow of a monster returned to mess with you, mess with his plans to manipulate you just right, mess with your soul that was _his_ for the taking! And he wanted it in its pure, pristine state thank you very much, not sullied with the claim of another, inferior being!

The thought alone is nearly enough to send him into a howling fit of rage instantly. Grinding his teeth, while staring out of the gloomy window in his office, he replays the moment he had crushed the intruder over and over until that burning fury is soothed at least a little. Yet it hadn’t been enough. Not nearly. Because that slippery maggot wasn’t dead, oh no. That partial extension of him had simply seized to exist in the pocket-dimension he had trapped you in, and Blackhat could still sense the rest of his presence even now, trying to squeeze and slither through the walls and layers of dark energy, and other magic, he had drawn around his lair the second he realized just how, and from where, the intruder had gotten in.

If he wasn't currently in this murderous mood, Blackhat maybe would have been impressed, if not downright intrigued by this Wingdings Gaster and by how powerful he had become. Moreover, most importantly, how the hell he had gotten to _that_ particular, abysmal place that Blackhat refuses to further think about, lest he’d disturb Him in His slumber. As unusual as his abilities might he for a simple organism like that, he posed no threat to the integrity of reality itself.

Yet, what he had done to your soul before Blackhat had shattered the temporary dimension…

Despite your physical distress you would have been fine; after all, the mark Gaster had left on your soul (another wave of indignant fury and one of the skyscrapers in the distance explodes in a fiery ball of flames) was nothing worse than a handprint on a crystal sculpture, a fingerprint on a golden grail. A smudge on a flawless diamond. It had been a _taunt_ , nothing more, and he had reacted to it like some primal beast. He had wanted it _gone_ and thus interfered with his own plans of how to carefully groom and manipulate your soul to perfection. This incident was a setback that would require even more caution to mend again! And yet with every new dusk his own willingness to wait patiently dwindled more and more.

The fact that he had gotten an actual taste of your soul for the fraction of a second wasn’t exactly helping either.

He closes his eye and exhales slowly. The mere memory of that taste is enough to finally smother the burning rage inside him, replacing it with thrumming bliss. It was impossible even for him to imagine just how much more magnificent, full and _perfect_ it would taste once he was done with you… even now, with the tainting rest of light and hope in it, the taste of your soul had been like a physical punch, followed by a sweet, almost palpable caress and then a merciless stab with a huge knife that gutted his very being in the most delicious way and shook his eldritch essence to the core. Never before had he, a devourer and connoisseur of mortal souls, come across something as divine as yours. It was a liquid fire that burned his throat and left him numb yet aching for more!

And he had almost given in. Had almost ruined it all. Your soul was a dangerous treasure, a dastardly temptation few would be able to resist. But it was his, _his_ alone and he would make sure that nobody else got to taste it even if he had to kill you himself to get it first!

A faint knock on the door pulls him back into the world, the Cheshire grin that had managed to creep onto his face immediately replaced by his usual irritated scowl whenever he was disturbed in his musing, and he barks the order to come in at whoever it is that is about to get severely punished for annoying him. He viciously hopes it's Flug or that walking failure he created.

The absolutely baffled expression is an entirely new one for him however and he needs another second to get his face under control again, lest you’d catch him taken off-guard. He had not expected you to seek him out after the obvious horror and disgust on your face not an hour earlier! And yet there you are, sidling through the heavy door, a grim determination on your face that almost manages to mask your unease and fear. _This is new_ , he thinks, intrigued. _Looks like I didn’t squander my chances that badly after all._

-

 

Your heart is hammering against your ribs and now you’re glad you already heaved up all the food from earlier since your stomach is doing flips at the mere sight of Blackhat again. The shadow of an already fleeting expression moves over his face before his grin returns. Maybe he had not anticipated _you_ to show your face so soon again after what had happened.

You stay leaning against the cold wood of the door and lick your lips. They’re dry and chapped and you reflexively nibble at the tiny edges, promptly opening that one deep cut and you suck your lip into you mouth to catch the blood.

 _Fuck._ You're actually not so sure about this whole plan anymore. But Blackhat's _warning_ had given you an idea of how to get more freedom around this place, and you feel like you really need that freedom. Just in order to stay sane.

    “Don’t just stand there like an idiot!” Blackhat snaps and you quickly move your feet to approach the giant window he’s standing in front of, your nails digging painfully into your palms to keep you from running. Your sprained left wrist hurts like hell again but you ignore it as well, using the pain as a means to channel your mind.

And then you're in front of him, racking your brain over how to pull this off without him suspecting anything! Your only hope is that his hunger for your soul might prompt him to do something reckless. Something rash.

“What do you want?” he asks brashly and you flinch where you’re standing.

    “I… I wanted to thank you.” You mutter, raising your eyes off the floor when he doesn’t react immediately. Blackhat is looking down on you in disbelief and anger at the same time. You’re walking on very thin ice right now, with a shoal of _slap_ -fish swimming just below you. Your body tenses instantly and you furrow your brows a little, focusing on predicting his next moves. “For getting me out back there. And for…” you don’t even have to act to blush, your cheeks feel uncomfortably hot and you quickly avert your gaze again.

    “Yes?” Blackhat drawls, his tone now unmistakably furtive.

    “For… whatever it was you did to my SOUL. I-  guess there was no other way you could have done it and that's the only reason why you…” you fall silent and worry your bleeding lip, suddenly turning away. “Sorry for disturbing you, boss, I- I don’t know what I was-"

But as soon as you have your back turned on him, you already feel his hands on you, stopping your hasty flight. His right one has grabbed your right arm, the left is lightly wrapped around your neck, sliding up your jaw to tilt your head back. You freeze with a shocked gasp.

    “Come now, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it?” He snickers darkly and you can clearly hear that he's only saying it to mock you, trying to get a rise out of you, but you still exhale shakily and make a small, desperate sound in your throat. Blackhat's mean chuckle promptly dies in his own. His right hand abandons its hold on your arm to slowly slip over to your waist and even then he only keeps it hovering lightly above the shirt, not really touching you yet.

    “… did you?” he presses on, his husky, slightly incredulous voice now barely more than the low rumbling of thunder in the night and your knees buckle for a second without your doing. His right hand curls around your waist, grabbing tightly to steady you, and you twitch in his grasp, your own hands jerking up in defense yet you order yourself to keep very still, even when his hot breath hits your exposed skin. With the two buttons ripped off at the top of your shirt, you have no doubt that from where he’s currently standing, the view must be _delectable_.

Blackhat's quiet hum passes into another malicious laughter.

    “Well, well, well… would you look at that… I tell you to keep surprising me and you deliver like a professional.” Something wet dances over the rim of your ear while he’s talking and you know that it is his tongue, that forked, long tongue that had invaded your mouth, and now you have to control yourself to not freak out and get yourself killed for trying to play him.

With a tense sigh you twist your head further around and into the gloved palm of his left hand, feeling how the muscles between your neck and shoulder are stretched taught on the other side, presenting him your vulnerable skin in a wordless tease. The memory of how painful this will be shoots through your mind but you brush it off, gasping in start when Blackhat pulls you flush against his body, and his right hand creeps around your side and over your stomach right below your chest. You can feel his fingers sneakily slipping in between the buttons of your shirt.

    “Just look at you, offering yourself to me like that… remind me again, didn’t you insist quite firmly that you weren’t a _whore_?”

    “I’m not!” you hiss instantly through your clenched teeth with real hatred, almost dropping your facade. _Come on already, take the fucking bait!_

Blackhat laughs right next to your ear and now you do squirm when you hear the sound of his huge teeth scraping against each other like knives being sharpened on whetstone.

    “Too late, my little thief. If you think you can just _play_ with fire…” There's drool dripping on your shoulder and you clutch his arm that has trapped you, inhaling sharply. “You should at least be prepared to get _burned_.”

Your sudden scream rings in your own ears when his fangs pierce your skin, for real this time, and tear into the muscles beneath. Panic takes over your body; you writhe in his grasp but that only opens the wound further and now tears shoot into your eyes, blurring your vision in addition to the vertigo the pain causes by itself. It's worse than his illusion, this was a mistake all along!

    “No!” you somehow manage to choke out between your hoarse cries, your fingers fumbling to pry his hands off of you. “No, please… hurts… oh God _please_!”

His jaws let go off your shoulder but only so he can spin you around and lift you up by the collar of your shirt, tearing it at the seams. You clench your eyes shut and raise your hands to protect your face when he shouts at you: “What?! Is it more than you thought you could handle? Did you honestly expect me to go easy on you?! Your disgraceful weakness makes me sick! _You_ came to _me_ for this, so **_take it_!**”

And then his horrible mouth is on yours once more, forcing your lips apart to bite your tongue, to maul and maim it until you stop pushing him away and just claw at the fabric of his black coat, moving your lips along with his so they don’t get snagged by the sharp teeth. There's a deep, almost gurgling growl coming from your boss' chest, sounding awfully pleased. His heady cacophony of scents numbs your already overwhelmed senses further, paralyzing you like the venomous bite of a viper.

You’re shaking like a leaf, your mind overcome by fear and terror. Never before have you felt so violated and yet, in a dark corner of your stunned brain, you think that you _deserve_ this. That, yes, this is what you came to him for on your own accord. This is what you wanted.

Then, all of a sudden, Blackhat just drops you and you stumble one, two steps away, covering the wound in your neck with one hand. Your breath is ragged; a haunted, clipped panting that just won’t steady itself. He's staring at you with an angry frown, your blood glistening on his chin.

    “Go. And don’t come to me again with your mind not made up. Next time I won’t let you off so gently.” He snaps his fingers and you’re suddenly standing in the dark hallway, the door closing before your face with a slam. For a second you can’t move, can’t really process what happened, and that tiny, shameful part of you wants to get back inside, but then your wound makes itself noted with vicious force and the pain clears your mind thankfully. Right, you hadn't just come here to get horribly traumatized!

On trembling knees you stagger towards the elevator, trying frantically not to panic at the amount of blood you’re still losing and that’s welling forth between your cramped fingers, seeping into the remains of your shirt. You have to hurry! Once the adrenaline wears off you won’t be even remotely able to do this.

The door to your room closes behind you, besmirched with your blood, and your eyes flutter for a terrible second; your vision has shrunken to a narrow grey tunnel but you shake it off with a jerk of your head, stumbling over to the lit fireplace. Now you just hope that Blackhat bit deeply enough to make this work!

With shaking fingers you lift your hand off the wound and grab one of the gloves from the opened package in the first aid kit, which you had carefully prepared before you set out to encounter your boss and his razor sharp teeth. Just like the burning fire, but this will come in handy later and you’d rather not think about that part too much right now. Now, you force your sticky hand into the nitrile glove, rip the sad remains of your torn shirt from your body and ball it together into a makeshift gag that you put into your mouth. Your tongue feels awfully dry already even without the fabric sucking up the rest of the moisture.

Raising the big hand mirror you found in the cabinet under the sink, you briefly glance at your face - white as a sheet even in the warm light from the fire, with dark circles under your puffy eyes and dried blood around your lips, where Blackhat had smudged it with his cruel kiss as if it were lipstick.

Your hand tilts the mirror, until you finally see what your boss did to you, and you whimper, another wave of panic pulling you under. It certainly looks _deep_ enough for what you had in mind but now you begin to doubt that you’ll be able to patch yourself up sufficiently! If you have to call Flug he will immediately know what you did and then all of the pain and humiliation would have been for nothing! But fortunately you had placed another ace up your sleeve.

Pure determination is the source that enables you to raise your left, gloved hand and push your fingers right into the wound. You bite down hard on the shirt, tears running down your cheeks instantly which you try to blink away to see where you are and what you’re doing. The spot is the right one, has to be, but where the fuck is it?!

You’re sweating all over now, your bare upper body feeling ice cold despite the fire. The pain is bordering on unbearable already, but your stress equals more adrenaline which means less pain, and suddenly your fingertip brushes against something tiny but solid that slips away when you touch it. Your own saliva spills and mixes with the sweat and tears that are running down your face in torrential streams, as your fingers chase the foreign object embedded in your flesh, but the tips of the gloves are just a bit too long for your hands and nudge the chip away before you can really grab it.

    “Phog ed!” you scream, muffled by the shirt in your mouth, and pull your hand away while keeping your eyes so focused on the spot in the reflection where the chip is that they burn. The coppery taste of blood fills your mouth again when you rip the nitrile glove off your hand with your teeth.

Your next scream is shrill, hoarse, and makes your throat feel raw from the force but thankfully the gag muffles it as well and so you dig your sweaty fingers deeper into the open wound that seems to incinerate when the salt from your skin meets your exposed nerve ends.

 _Come on! Please! You fucking piece of shit tracker, come out!!_ **_Now!_**

And then you feel it, feel the tiny round disk bump against your index and you hold your choked breath. Slowly, moving only a millimeter a second and fighting against your crashing blood pressure, your thumb carefully slips under the chip and around and you pinch your fingers together with all your strength, groaning faintly when you pinch right into your torn muscles. For a moment you fear you might lose consciousness now after all, but then you pull your hand away, and the yank on your exposed flesh is enough to jerk you back into the here and now, sending a disgusting sting from your spinal cord all the way down to the tips of your toes.

Panting heavily and blinking through the tears, you stare in triumph at the silvery chip on your fingertip. Its diameter is barely the width of a rice grain and you think that the amount of work to get it out is entirely ridiculous, considering how swiftly Flug had inserted it!

But you’re not done yet.

You carefully swipe the bloody tracker off your fingertip and into the little envelope you had folded from a sheet of paper, placing it into the first aid kit for later. Suddenly you feel terribly exhausted and the idea of just lying down on the carpet in front of the toasty fireplace appears like the best you’ve had in a while. Yet you force yourself to grab the bottle of disinfectant with your shaking, blood-covered hand and raise it to your still _very_ bleeding shoulder. Where it stops, hovering right over the wound until your arm starts cramping.

You can’t! You know how badly it is going to burn once you dump the liquid over the exposed flesh and even after that you’re still not done, you still need to close it properly and the only efficient way to do that yourself is by-

  _“What the hell are you doing?!”_ The sudden memory rises before your inner eye yet it seems like reality, probably because of all the blood you lost up to now and the stress your poor brain had to deal with.

You frown reflexively and shake your head dismissively. Your lips move silently and unintelligibly around the now wet shirt in your mouth, yet in your mind the words sound pained but clear.

    _“What's it look like, huh?”_ You had hissed back and tried to close the gaping wound along the inside of your thigh where one of the magic spears had slashed you open. The cut was deep and bleeding heavily, and even though it had missed the artery, there was blood everywhere, just like right now. You don’t remember how you had made it back to base, or how you even managed to escape from Undyne.

Frisk, back then still _your_ Frisk, had rushed to your side and frantically tried to pull you up on your feet.

    _“You need to get to Wingdings you idiot!”_ They had sounded scared but were masking their fear with anger, anger at your recklessness for your own life. They always did that.

    _“Don’t… need him…!”_ you had pressed out through clenched teeth and groaned hoarsely when your shaking hand had poured the disinfectant over the cut in your leg. You remember the way Frisk's fingers had dug into your bicep, somehow diluting the sharp sting of agony. They had shaken their head in disbelief.

    _“Then let me help you at least.”_ They eventually muttered and took the surgical needle you had stolen from Wingdings' medical supply.

Frisk… had they really believed that you would leave them behind?! That you didn’t care about them anymore? You loved them for fuck's sake! Had you ruined it all only because _you_ wanted more of what you two had experienced together? After the cut in your leg had been healed? Shy, drunk and more than a little insecure, and confused, but still…

You clench your jaws around the shirt and dump all of the disinfectant over your wound, splashing blood and alcohol everywhere. Your right fist drops the mirror to slam into the carpet, over and over, while you slump forward and curl in on yourself, _screaming_ into the damp cloth and crying for real now. Every sob that shakes you is like another bite from Blackhat and you stay in this position for what feels like hours before the pain finally subsides into a smoldering throb.

You had thought that you were used to pain, even immune against unbearable agony. But, as with many other things, you had never been so wrong about anything _ever_.

You have no idea why you’re still not passed out by now, how in the world you’re able to crawl over the floor, pull the broadest fire poker out of its casket and hold it into the roaring flames, careful not to dip it into the ashes. When the iron is glowing white with heat, you hesitate again, hesitate because the last time you had felt something like that on your skin you had passed out immediately for multiple hours and you don’t want to risk getting burned to a crisp in a fire.

And the pain…

    “I can’t…” You sob out and shake your head. Your pants are soaked with blood on your right side. “Oh fuck I can’t do this! I can’t, I just c- can't!” the rest of your hoarse stammering gets swallowed in your helpless cries and you grab the fire poker with both hands, your chest heaving rapidly. Your vision is swimming again, spinning and closing towards a small pin prick.

    _“Come on, I’m almost done. Just a few more stitches. You big baby.”_

Frisk's gentle smile floats in the darkness, their slender, soft hands working on your leg without hesitation, without shaking, the only sign of their fear for you the crease between their eyebrows.

    “I'm not…” you hiss out through your teeth. “’m not a baby, babe.”

They look up all of a sudden and you see the pink on their cheeks, hear that sharp inhale…

When you press the white glowing iron bar into your shoulder, the memory still hurts more. But then, mercifully, your brain deems that it's had quite enough of this crap and allows you to lose consciousness.

And only when your body slumps sideways onto the carpet does Blackhat allow himself to take a shaking, reverent breath, his monocle gleaming with a light that’s not coming from the cracking fire.

 _Well,_ he thinks with a satisfied grin, stepping out of the shadows behind you to get a closer look, _that’s one way to mend my meddling. And I could not have done it better myself._ With a wave from his hand, the smoldering carpet puts itself out where you had dropped the still searing hot fire poker. As interesting as it would be to watch you get severely burned in a fire, he can’t afford you to recuperate for long, after all, you need to finally start earning your worth in money to stay here – alive that is.

Blackhat bends down to inspect the wound you just cauterized so haphazardly, a tad peeved that you won’t carry his teeth-marks now. Your blistering flesh looks even worse than after he abused it, but at least you won’t bleed all over the carpet anymore. _Sloppy._

When you stir again, he's already gone.

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"It's just a scratch!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> U-OH SISTERS! O.O 
> 
> I'm baaaaack!!! Vacation was great but I'd like some Fall now, thank. Hope you didn't suffer too bad from withdrawal symptoms :D 
> 
> **Next update on the 5th of September** (or earlier if I get too impatient x'D )


	17. The Devil ain't Lazy

   “ _Oh, is that all?” Flug says lightly. Then his eyes nearly pop out of his glasses and he clutches the edges of his paper bag. "That is today?! Oh no! Oh no, no, no- oh sweet baby Jesus he's going to kill me!!”_

 

### 17\. The Devil ain’t Lazy

 

 

 _Oh God, this is so awkward,_ you think as you stare at Blackhat, who has just materialized in the kitchen, right in front of you, _glowering_ from the shadow of his hat. Your hand holding the cup of coffee trembles dangerously and you quickly set the mug down on the counter to the side before it can slip out of your fingers. The messily cauterized wound pulses beneath your shirt.

You had passed out for only a minute after the hot iron had seared your flesh and fortunately the rug in front of the hearth had not caught on fire when you dropped the poker. Upon waking, you had dragged yourself into the bathroom to get a better look at what you’d done to yourself. The wound was deceivingly small, considering you had initially thought Blackhat’s teeth had torn you open from the collarbone to your scapula and the amount of blood had made it look like that as well. After carefully cleaning the area around the burnt flesh, you stared in disbelief at the scar, barely as wide as your little finger was long and roughly four inches from one end to the other.

After a quick shower in the tub, to wash away all the blood and sweat, you had dressed the wound with more disinfectant, salve and a thick pad of gauze and hoped this was the right thing to do. You knew it would likely ooze a ton, at least the spots where Sans had snuffed out cigars on your skin had, but apart from them you had never treated such a big third degree burn before. And you wouldn’t ask Flug for his special salve and ruin all your efforts of removing the tracker in the process!

 _It'll be fine._ You thought to yourself and went to bed, exhausted as you were. But the pain had kept you awake for hours and when the first light filtered through the windows, you had sighed and gotten up to compensate for the lack in sleep with caffeine after redressing the itching and burning wound, and after cleaning up the exploded bath bomb you had chucked at the wall, its mere sight almost enough to set you off in a fit of panic.

This was already your second cup of coffee but Blackhat's sudden presence had a much more potent effect on your tiredness!

    “G- good morning, Lord Blackhat.” You greet him, well-behaved. _Just don’t let him freak you out. Just this once!_ But with what had happened last night, that is easier thought than done. And as if to prove you right, his glare travels from your face down to your right shoulder where it stays for a long minute while one of his thin, antennae-like eyebrows arches.

    “You didn’t let Flug treat your wound?” he asks, curious, and you shrug, wincing with a suppressed hiss when your right shoulder feels like it's popping open all over again from that thoughtless motion.

    “N- no. I thought he shouldn’t have to work overtime for my stupidity. And I’m pretty good at patching myself up. No biggie.” You reply nonchalantly but flinch with held breath when Blackhat suddenly reaches out a hand. For a horrible second you fear he’s going to give your shoulder a good ol' squeeze, since it's _no biggie_. Yet his gloved hand merely pulls the collar of the new shirt, this time you had chosen a dark grey one, to the side, revealing the padded bandage.

    “Bah, to call it sloppy would be flattery! Oh well, I’ll make sure to thoroughly enjoy watching the slow and agonizing death the infection is going to give you.” He chuckles darkly when you yank yourself free, baring your own teeth at him in anger.

    “Yeah, right. I’m not gonna give you _that_ satisfaction!” you snap, pulling the shirt back into place. God, you can’t wait to get out for a change! “Got any more tasks for me, my Lord and Master? I’m afraid I need to pay off another _shirt_ , that _you_ ruined!”

Blackhat just sneers at you. You would have expected him to still be mad at you, but something obviously lifted his mood. Maybe World War 3 broke out or the plague.

    “Oh I have all kinds of dirty labor on my mind for you that would settle your debts to me in a matter of minutes… but we both know that you’re too much of a coward to even consider it.”

    “Ugh, you’re the worst, boss.” You mutter, appalled, and take another step away from him. Blackhat laughs loudly and tips his hat towards you.

    "Like I said, no need for _flattery_ my dear. I’ll be expecting guests today for another commercial shooting. Your job is going to be tending to their every needs so they don’t pester me! The useless doctor will know what that means. Any questions? This is your one and only chance to ask. Otherwise I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

You make a reluctant face and pointedly reach for your coffee, noticing his murderous expression from the corner of your eye when you take a long sip before answering him with a smug grin: “I thought you said I was utterly useless at maid-work?”

This time you had expected him to lash out and jerk back the second his hand shoots forward, lithely avoiding the brutal ear cuff that probably would have left you deaf on one side for a day. You can’t control the grin on your face and tiptoe swiftly a few more steps away from him. Sure enough, his other hand is holding the cane like he was going to batter you with that next.

The sudden silence is so tense you could pluck a tune on it and your wound stings dangerously beneath the gauze, but you didn’t spill even a single drop of coffee. Satisfied with how that went, you take a victorious sip. Blackhat just scowls at you for another second.

When you blink, he’s gone!

    “Shit, where did you-" you curse but before you can even think about turning around, he places his hand over your shoulder, right on the wound, and _now_ he squeezes.

You drop to your knees instantly, the mug shattering on the kitchen tiles, splashing your pants with hot coffee. Your hands try desperately to pry his fingers open, but Blackhat's grip is unyielding. His left hand seizes your other shoulder for good measures and you have to fight the upcoming nausea and the dizzy spinning in your head.

    “If I wasn’t currently so _livid_ ,” Blackhat tells you, his voice dropping into that demonic growl on the last word, “I’d say you're skills are improving rather quickly. _However_ …” His hands tighten their grip further and you fall forward with a pained groan, his fingers finally slipping off your shirt but to you it still feels like he’s got you in a pinch. With some odd luck you manage to catch your fall on your hands before your nose gets broken by the tiled floor. "You’re still wildly overestimating yourself. Don’t _ever_ think you have even a fraction of a chance against me.”

Like you didn’t know that yourself! But that doesn’t mean at all you’re going to stop trying. After all…

    “W- what’s wrong with… testing my skills against the strongest person around me? That’s… the fastest way I get stronger myself!” you retort, propping yourself up on your left hand to get back up and turn around to Blackhat. “I know I can’t beat you, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying to match you.”

His angry expression turns into a sharp grin at your words and he nods his head.

    “An admirable attitude for a weakling like yourself. But don’t forget who the real enemy is.” His hand moves around, conjuring up a familiar skeletal face from black smoke. Immediately you feel your hatred roaring, causing the man in the hat to grin even wider. “You want to make him pay, yes? But consider this… all those heroes in your town, what did they ever do in the name of their so-called, disgusting _justice_ and _good_? Have they ever come to _your_ rescue? A poor, suffering street urchin on the brink of dying? Oh no, they just used all their power for their _own_ good, their own gain and fame. Has anything ever changed for the better with them around? Or has their mere existence made it even harder for the more unfortunate of the world to get by? Think about that for a change and then decide if you’re willing to take this golden opportunity I’m granting you seriously already!”

He has a point, you realize suddenly. In fact, he’s right about _everything_! You don’t even care that he somehow, again, knows where you came from, his words just make sense! For people like you, there had never been a light at the end of the tunnel. Too weak to fight for scraps? Too bad! Alone in this world with nobody left to turn to? Well, tough tiddies. And who had been the only one willing to give you a chance? Sans Gaster, the cruelest mobster in South City, and a monster on top of that. And wasn’t he, wasn’t Blackhat, now doing the same for you even though he absolutely didn’t have to and would most likely be better off himself by getting rid of you? Yet here he was, another high ranked villain taking you under his wing and putting up with your constant attitude and disobedience. It really was your own fault if you got slapped by the hand that fed you and that _you_ were biting over and over again without thinking about the bigger picture for one minute!

Without realizing it, you stand up straighter and return Blackhat’s burning gaze, your fists clenched by your sides.

    “I will. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you, Lord Blackhat. I… I didn’t see it like that before.”

He hums quietly, a satisfied smile on his face.

    “That’s what I like to hear. Now, go wake Flug. He has much to do today and I won’t tolerate him slacking off on such an important day. He should be in the plane.”

   “Alright, boss, will do.”

    “Good. And do get changed. Some of those parasites I call my guests might react… _unpredictably_ to the scent of fear. Wouldn’t want you to lose a limb or three.” He walks away, chuckling his evil laughter and after four steps you hear the _whoosh_ of him disappearing into the shadows. You stay where you are, staring at the empty room. Blackhat’s words still echo in your mind, but then you remember his orders and quickly clean up the mess of broken shards and spilled coffee before heading towards the elevator and riding it all the way to the attic, where the entrance to the crashed airliner is located.

The door, once the lateral exit right behind the cockpit, is sealed off with more of the security tape and plastered with signs that tell Dementia quite clearly she's not allowed in here! Not really sure what to do, you knock on the door, hearing the full metallic sound reverberate.

    “Uh, doc? Sorry for interrupting your beauty rest but the boss-hat told me to get you… Doctor Flug?” No answer, the plane remains eerily quiet.

With a sigh you pick out another improvised lock pick you made from one of the ballpoint pens in your own desk and get to work on the lock to the side of the door. Not a minute later it opens and you’re able to pull the two sliding doors apart and slip into the dark interior of the crashed plane.

As your eyes get used to the dimness, you quickly make your way through the repurposed airliner, past Flug's labs, working stations and a tiny bathroom, to a homey looking living room where you had caught a glimpse of a mountain of stuffed animals the first time you were in here.

Leaving the first class, now the work area, you walk into the living space, freezing when you see that the mountain of plushies is heaving up and down. Must be 5.0.5's place to sleep then. You're not sure whether waking him might trigger his… _other_ form so you cautiously tiptoe around him, further down the length of the plane, to the back, through another door and…

    “What the…” you mumble under your breath and take a long look around the small room that is Flug's quarter. The first thing that catches your eye is an almost futuristic looking machine with a round glass cover, like some sort of hypersleep chamber, plugged into the wall to the right, next to the last few windows. The bright orange black box, serving as a nightstand, stands out even in the darkness and you immediately notice the green glowing heartbeat monitor on its display which strikes you as quite odd, but then you realize that Flug must have been tinkering with the stuff in here as well, evil genius that he is.

The walls around the sleep chamber are covered with framed pictures, shelves full of plane models and various degree and diploma, all of them bearing the Black Hat Organization symbol. Most of the people in the photos have their faces removed, but when you walk closer to take a better look at the one that appears to be a family photo, you suddenly spot movement in the chamber and stop, immediately feeling caught invading his privacy like that.

Flug tosses in restless sleep, making defensive gestures with his hands. He’s wearing a NASA shirt and loose grey track pants. And he’s also wearing a paper bag along with goggles over his face while sleeping. So even in here he doesn’t feel safe enough to take it off? You’re beginning to wonder if it is because of Blackhat, who could literally appear whenever and wherever he wanted without a warning, and who didn’t bother with personal space apparently, at least not when he felt like scaring the shit out of everyone else. Or if it is something psychological that's related to his past.

You don’t really feel like messing with the strange glass coffin Flug uses as a bed, so you turn around and flip the light switch next to the door. The mad scientist jerks up, banging his head against the glass before his hand finds the button that opens the sleeping chamber, cold air streaming out of it in dense clouds. Rubbing his forehead, he looks around and flinches when he sees you standing by the door.

    “You! How- _what_ in Mengele's name are you doing here?!” he shrieks, pointing an accusing finger at you. Okay, you assumed he wouldn’t be all too happy to get woken up like that but this takes you a bit by surprise.

    “Relax, doc, I’m not exactly happy to be here, either. But Lord Blackhat ordered me to wake you up so… sorry. Um, I guess I’m gonna wait outside then.” You say sheepishly and are about to shoulder the door open behind you, when a loud roar thunders from the other room and something heavy throws itself against the door, closing it with a slam. "Oh fuck!” you yell and jump back, bumping into Flug who grabs your arms and gently but firmly shoves you out of the way.

5.0.5 scratches at the door like he’s gone mad, and thinking about what you saw the evening before, that's pretty damn likely. The noises he's making sound too much like an actual, feral bear for your taste, but Flug walks up to the door anyway, placing his palms against it, and whispers soothingly to his little

    “Fluffy?” you repeat under your breath when you hear him utter it. Slowly the ferocious snarling and scratching stops and eventually, Flug opens the door to get enveloped in a big, blue, frantic bear hug.

   “Oh it's okay my little sunshine, I know you were just trying to protect daddy. My precious boy.” You have never heard Flug _cooing_ before but there he goes, scratching 5.0.5’s ears and cuddling his round face until the teary-eyed bear has calmed down again. “See? Nothing bad happened, it was just _______ who woke me up. No, it's alright, she isn’t scared of you.” He quickly adds when 5.0.5 makes a distressed noise, his lip trembling again.

Well, you're not scared _anymore_ now that he’s back to being cute and cuddly. But you were seriously close to shitting yourself. Yet despite that, you walk up to 5.0.5 yourself now and lift a hand to pet his arm.

    “Yeah, sorry I startled you like that, bud. But we have a lot to do today… apparently.”

The bear gives you a bright smile and nuzzles Flug once more before putting him back down and leaving the room, the yellow flower happily bobbing over his head. Flug sighs quietly and turns to you with a confused look behind his goggles.

    “Why exactly did Lord Blackhat send _you_ to wake me, though? I have never overslept before!” He quickly checks the alarm clock on the black box to make sure however. You’re not surprised to see it's a little biplane with pilot.

    “Uh… he said that some guests were coming here for a shoot? And that I’m supposed to help out with keeping them entertained.” You already want to jump out of another window. Much more bearable to face Blackhat's wrath than to play the servant for a bunch of snobby villains!

    “Oh, is that all?” Flug says lightly. Then his eyes nearly pop out of the goggles and he clutches the edges of his paper bag, almost ripping it to shreds. "That is _today_?! Oh no! Oh no, no, no- with all that chaos going on I completely forgot that the V.i.V. meeting is today and the shoot- and- oh sweet baby Jesus he's going to _kill_ _me_!!”

Flug is in full on panic mode. He storms past you to his desk in the living room, flinging blueprints and papers off the table, his hands shaking so bad that the paper makes wobble noises. You can’t even understand the frantic string of words anymore as he flips through a calendar, dropping it and almost knocking himself unconscious against the edge of the table when he tries to pick it back up.

You look to the side and see 5.0.5, clinging to a vacuum cleaner like it’s his lifeline, on the verge of tears again. He’s actually wearing a maid outfit now and you’re a little impressed Blackhat bothered to include the ruffled apron when he scared you with that disguise.

But then you decide to make a move and pull Flug away from the desk, turning him around by his boney shoulders. His paper bag is terribly crinkled and tiny holes have appeared on the edges. Fighting your own curiosity to steal a peek inside, you stare him down and wait until he at least stops stammering.

    "Doc. It's gonna be _fine_. Let 5.0.5 and me take care of the mansion while you get your thoughts in order and get ready. There’s coffee downstairs and some leftover sandwiches in the fridge. Sound good?”

He flinches at the mentioned sandwiches, and you halfway expect him to yell at you the way he had in the kitchen two days ago. But then Flug's shoulders slump in your grip and he nods slightly.

"Alright? And if something does go wrong, tell the boss it was _my_ fault.”

Now he shoots you a distrustful glare and frees himself from your hands.

    “Why in the world would you do that?!” he wants to know and you can’t really blame him. While that’s already a very unlikely thing for any lowlife criminal to do, it is an entirely different situation when your boss is _Blackhat_. You were either too pure of heart, aka _not_ evil, or stupid. Or you were Dementia and probably got some sick pleasure out of every contact with him, be it severe punishment or just a kick in the head.

You smirk, showing a few teeth.

    “Figured it might be kinda handy to have you owe me a few _favors_.” There you go. Calculating and not at all altruistic. And while you really do feel bad for the guy, you still have to think for yourself in the long run. Dr. Flug blinks in surprise but then he snickers quietly.

    “That’s fair. Alright, I’ll take your word for it, but don’t come to me complaining afterwards.” You shrug.

    “Then let’s make sure nothing goes wrong, huh? Come on bud, we need to get going!” you say to 5.0.5 and the bear salutes you with a happy “Bao!” before lumbering off with the vacuum in tow.

On your way out, you stop for a second to pull the shirt away from your wound and inspect the dressing. It's not leaking, and apparently not even Blackhat's disciplinary measures had opened it back up. Still, you should probably redress it when you were done with getting everything ready.

Suddenly you look back over your shoulder. The door to Flug's room is opened a little, and through the slit you see him from the side, taking his shirt off. You can’t see his face with the way the shirt is completely covering his head, but you do see the long, white scar, running under his chest, as if something had been cut out, before you snap back to reality and hurry out of the plane.

That was probably something you were absolutely _not_ supposed to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Augh, I couldn't wait, I really really want to get to the good parts already!!! 
> 
> Don't worry, the next update will still be up on September 5th my lovelies :3 thank you all soooo much for all the nice comments and the general love this horrible adventure has received so far, I literally couldn't be happier!!


	18. Damn Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guuuuuyyyys thank you so much for 100 Kudos I'm beyond happy this fanfiction has been received so well!

_Mawrasite glances at you, tightly crossing her arms again, clutching the handkerchief in one fist._

_“I- I’m really sorry it snapped at you, it's very starved. But-but don’t worry, I won’t let it eat you!”_

### 18\. Damn Door

 

 

There’s really not that much to clean around the manor this time, safe for the occasional chaos Dementia has left behind, like the one in the small living room from last night. The bowl you saw her carry still has some kernels left in it, but your focus is more on the weird hand puppet lying on the couch.

    “Augh, what the hell, Dem?” you mutter and gingerly pick the self-made Blackhat puppet up by the end of its sleeve. There's popcorn crumbs stuck to the felt-teeth and dried spots of… _something_ around the mouth. A shiver runs over your back and you drop the puppet into a drawer under the TV before you get back to cleaning the mess Dementia had managed to produce during her movie-night. The mere act of fluffing pillows and picking off tiny crumbs makes you incredibly angry. This is so _boring_! _Unnecessary._

    “Stupid!” you growl through clenched teeth, glaring at a dirty sock you just pulled out of the depths of the couch. Suddenly one of the many other screens in the room switches on and you almost fall backwards over the low coffee table when Blackhat's stare pierces you through the static flickering.

    “Boss! Uh, anything else you need? W- we're nearly done with sprucing this place up.” You quickly assure him but Blackhat makes a dismissive gesture, baring his teeth at you.

    “I hope there is a good reason why you’re still not changed. If you disgrace my organization in any way with your overly crude manners you can bid your miserable soul adieu right now!” he snarls, his folded hands transforming into sharp claws on the desk. You gulp.

    “I was just about to do that. Get _changed_ , I mean!”

Without another word, the monitor blips off again and you stick out your tongue at the sizzling screen. Oh well, if it means you don’t have to clean anymore, you’ll gladly head back to your room and change.

You run into Flug in the front hall, who’s already wearing a clean lab coat and a new paper bag. You’re still awfully curious about that scar you saw, but now really isn’t the time or place for this. Besides: the giant, walking tripod that suddenly bounds into the hall makes you recoil in start.

    “Ah, there you are, _______!” Flug greets you, sounding a lot calmer than when you woke him, which is definitely a good sign. “I don’t think you have met Cambot yet. He will help us shoot this special.”

    “ _He_?” you repeat, amused, and eye the robot closer. It really is just a huge camcorder on three long, astonishingly flexible tripod legs but then you notice the two metal arms it's keeping closely drawn to its camera body. Cambot tilts a little, focusing its lens on you like a curious puppy and you snort. “Hey Cambot, how's it going?”

Flug pats one of the metal legs.

    “Cambot is one of my earliest inventions, so, yeah, there’s some sentiment for him.”

Then you remember something and your blood runs cold: “Oh sh-, Flug, what about Dementia?! Shouldn’t we, like…” But the evil genius waves you off.

    “Don’t worry, she’s already restrained and sedated in her room. Even if we weren’t expecting female guests, she would most likely cause _havoc_ out of pure boredom… or even try to hijack the feed with one of her stupid Dementia Tips again.”

You flinch and try desperately not to cover the bandaged bite mark with your hand.

    “Huh, so she’s really _that_ territorial?” You ask with a weak laugh and Flug rolls his eyes behind his goggles.

    “Ugh, you have no _idea_. You should have seen her when we were doing our first job for Miss Penumbra. And it's only gotten worse with her ever since. I'm honestly surprised she hasn’t done anything to _you_ yet.” He confesses, naïvely honest. Oh wow, that guy really had no clue about tactfulness whatsoever. What a nerd.

    “Yeah, well, it’s not like I’m not constantly trying to stop her from jumping to conclusions.” You mutter through clenched teeth. Dementia would _definitely_ obliterate you five times over if she ever got to know what had gone down in Blackhat’s office last night! Or before that, in your room. “Okay, so, what am _I_ supposed to do when the guests show up? Blackhat made it sound like I should serve them drinks and stuff like that.” You remember to ask, again with that stir of unease in your guts, and Flug shrugs.

    “That’s basically it. The hatbotlers have prepared the dining room to accommodate our guests in between their individual shoots, so you'll probably just have to pour a few drinks. But you also have to make sure there’s not going to be any fights! They might all be members of the VIVs* of the Black Hat Organization, but they’re still _villains_ , and some hold a grudge or two against each other about who stands higher in our master’s favor. And you can probably guess what Lord Blackhat will do to the both of us if those rivalries escalate in _his_ house.”

 _Great_ , you think with still growing reluctance, _I gotta play the servant_ and _the fucking babysitter for a bunch of sickos._

“I’ll do my best, doc. See you in a bit, I should really get out of these coffee-drowned pants.” With that you take the elevator up to your room. The sun is up by now, shining red through the huge windows, illuminating floating dust particles, and something draped over the bed. You slowly walk up to it, your face already twisting into a grimace when you realize what’s lain out for you on the blanket: a red, silk shirt with short, puffed sleeves, black gloves and a slim tie, a dark grey pair of tights, a black pencil skirt and a pair of black pumps with red soles – the kind that’s guaranteed to make you break your neck and ankles after three steps.

You draw a sharp breath to already scream out your refusal, but then you just sigh in defeat and start stripping out of your clothes. There’s no use fighting this, not when you already know what will happen if you do. Blackhat told you to change, and apparently you’re supposed to change into _that_ getup so what can you do?

It’s no surprise that all the pieces are a perfect fit, if maybe a little _too_ perfect for your taste, making you feel uncomfortably accentuated in all the wrong ways. You’re a thief for fuck’s sake, not a flashy hooker trying to attract clients! You’re supposed to go unnoticed, melt into the shadows and move unrestricted, and above all have enough pockets to carry your gear/loot close to your body without it showing! This just feels like you’ve been shoved into a bunch of restraints to be paraded around! This is torture! And it's definitely a punishment for yesterday!

But then you lift the skirt off the blanket and notice something lying underneath it. A delicate set of thigh-holsters made from black leather, the belt only two fingers wide and equipped with half a dozen slim throwing knives in sheaths attached on each side. Speechless, you hold it up into the light and pull one of the knives out, drawing a shaking breath.

They are gorgeous! The blade is made from some sort of crystal or resin, so thin you can almost see through it, but sharp enough to sink into flesh without any resistance as you test the edge against your thumb, and you have no doubt that they’re much sturdier than they look. Likely a carbon-derivate, perhaps even diamond!? The entire holster and the knives themselves are so delicately forged that they aren’t even visible underneath the tight fitting pencil skirt when you pull it over the straps and zip it up. And since the knives hang upside down in their sheaths, you won’t have any trouble to draw them without a lot of fumbling!

When you're done piecing everything together, you hurry to the huge dresser to take a look at the giant mirror inside. The woman in front of you looks nothing like your old self. It’s so weird! But not exactly bad, and even the shoes aren’t that uncomfortable. Yeah, this isn’t so-

    “Hold still.” Blackhat rasps behind you and you’re really glad your body freezes instinctively on that command because otherwise you might have actually stabbed him with one of the throwing knives! But before you have even time to wonder why you can’t see his reflection this time, you feel his fingers on your scalp, messing with the bun you’re keeping your hair in, and now you have to actively keep yourself from bolting. Your worn hair tie gets carelessly flicked across the room, replaced by a silvery metal ornament through which Blackhat stabs two thick needles, tightly securing your hair back in place. There’s something strange to these and you lift your hand before you can stop yourself to finger one of them, your eyes widening when it comes apart at the top and you can pull a very thin dagger out of the hollow part of the needle.     

    “Holy shit…” you mumble, amazed. One of Blackhat’s hands slightly brushes over the branding on your back, making it burn beneath the shirt until you hiss through clenched teeth and quickly stick the hidden knife back into its sheath.

    “I won’t tolerate any blunders today. And I certainly don’t expect anything outstanding from you. But manage to surprise me and I will _maybe_ let you keep these. Now get back to work!” With this he disappears again and you shiver from the wave of unearthly energy dispersing so close to you. _Surprise him?_ With what, stabbing one of the VIVs? Probably better to not stress about that part when you don’t even know what’s in store for you on the regular.

    “Maybe _surviving_ this whole ordeal would be the real surprise.” You mutter and head back down to the foyer, using the elevator because you really don’t feel like taking your chances with a bunch of stairs in these heels.

When you step outside the lift, you nearly get waltzed down by a gang of hatbotlers; tiny, mono wheeled robots with black bowler hats and Blackhat's mean, sharp-toothed features. You snicker to yourself, imagining them trailing behind the big boss like a group of ducklings, when suddenly the doorbell rings ( _bing-bong_ ), the sound so bizarre in a place like this it makes you flinch.

    “What’s the point of having a normal sounding doorbell in such a hellish manor? The sound of tortured souls would be way more fitting.” you grouse under your breath and hastily walk up to the door since none of the robots seem to be feeling like they should probably get that.   

 _Alright, _______,_ you think, determined, grabbing the doorknob maybe a little too tightly. _This is just another job, just another knife you have to catch! Whatever is waiting for you behind that door, you’ll be fine!_

    “Welcome to the Black Hat Organization! I’m _______, and-", everything else you had planned to say fails you as you look up and into the red glowing eye sockets of a skeleton. You’re frozen, eyes torn open in shock and yet the hand that’s not currently clawing into the wood of the door reaches down for your skirt, the knives, you have to get the knives, you have to kill him, kill him _kill_ -

    “You alright there, miss?” the skeleton asks, tensed, and it’s the vowel-heavy, polite British accent that stops you dead in your tracks and allows you to blink, your mind snapping out of the panic-reaction.

There is indeed a skeleton standing in front of you, but it's no-one you _know._ In fact, now that you really look at him, you're confused how you ever could have mistaken him for one of the Gaster brothers! He’s way smaller, first off, barely as tall as Blackhat without his hat, where Sans had been around 6 foot eight and Papyrus was closer to _nine_ feet than eight. And he’s definitely wearing a villain getup, a dark suit with a huge collar of long, curved teeth that run all the way to the hood on his back, complete with a set of red gloves, one of which is reaching for a massive sword strapped to his hip. And you're still gaping like a braindead rock!

    “I- yes, I’m terribly sorry, that was rude of me! B- but I thought you were someone I knew at first. Please, do come in.” you stammer and quickly move to the side, ushering the skeleton inside. He’s laughing quietly and gives you another curious look once you close the door behind him.

    “Must not have been an awfully pleasant fella. I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t happy with one or the other _terrified_ reaction, but that someone would initially decide to pull a blade on me is refreshingly new. I suppose you’re new in the Organization?”

Before you can answer, the air beside you thickens and darkens and Lord Blackhat emerges with the brief sound of howling souls, throwing you a quick but piercing glare.

    “A bloody _amateur_ , I’m afraid… welcome back to my humble abode, Hunter. How fairs the skeleton-war?” the man in the hat turns to his guest and effectively blocks out the vicious look you shoot back at him.

    “Lord Blackhat! It is I who is humbled by your very presence, once again. Thanks to the mass-enchantment I commissioned from you, we are on the brink of driving the living off the face of the Earth for good now!” the skeleton, Hunter, exclaims, clenching a red-gloved fist. Blackhat’s grin widens.

    “Marvelous. I do hope you don’t forget to collect the souls for our agreed compensation.” He says with the clear but unspoken threat to get another soul as compensation should he really forget. Hunter flinches and quickly waves his hands around.

    “They are being collected as we speak, Lord Blackhat, I assure you.”

    “Excellent. Now, I'm afraid I’ll have to leave you in the less than capable hands of my newest henchman. Please don’t hesitate to act out your frustration on her should she fail at the simplest of tasks; I will join you once the rest of our guests have arrived.” With that, Blackhat vanishes, leaving the two of you in a more than uncomfortable silence that you almost tear apart by how hard you're grinding your teeth.

But then the skeleton exhales in relief and drops his tensed shoulders.

    “Bloody hell, he still gives me the creeps! And you didn’t even flinch!” he gives you a long stare and you rub your arm sheepishly. “There is just something about you, not matter what he says. I hope you'll humor an old skeleton's curiosity by telling me how you got to work under the one and only Lord of Evil and still manage to stay sane?” he sounds honestly intrigued and you feel a little better about the whole situation, when Flug suddenly comes into the main hall and greets Hunter, who immediately walks over to him.

    “Well met, Doctor. I must say, those cryo-bombs might be your most devastating invention yet!”

Flug waves the skeleton off with a flattered chuckle and escorts him to the first floor where the dining room and the editing room are located. You remain by the door, because not half a minute later, the bell rings again.

    “Okay, just don’t freak out if it's another skeleton. It's okay, Blackhat's not gonna invite Sans over, he didn’t even remember him, he _hates_ him, it's fine…” you mumble and force a smile back on your face.

    “Hello and welcome to the Black Hat Organization! Are you here for the VIV shoot?” From your first impression of the next guest, you immediately calm down a little. The villain is a young, masked woman with an exhausted expression, smiling back at you, albeit a little confused. She’s wearing a cute black minidress with a black choker around her neck and torn purple tights that match the color of her short, wild hair. The chest piece of her dress looks like it's made from huge teeth, smaller ones lining the hem of the skirt and you can’t help but admire the outfit. Six bone-white spider-like legs stick out behind her and she even has a pair of teeth-clips holding back her hair.

    “Oh, uh, hi, I’m- I’m Mawrasite. You’re… um, you’re new here, right?” she says, waving tiredly at you and you notice the sickly yellow colour of her eyeballs and the smudged black eyeliner beneath them, making her look like she had either been crying or yawning a lot. You instantly wonder what she might be able to do, since Hunter was obviously undead and Void had his black hole ability. It seemed like the members of the VIV. were all nothing short of super-villains themselves. Which isn't exactly reassuring.

    “Yeah, I haven’t been working for Lord Blackhat for that long. Please come in! We are still waiting for the other guests to arrive but you can already join Hunter in the dining room.” You chime and usher her inside. Mawrasite doesn’t shake your offered hand though and instead keeps her arms tightly crossed over her stomach. You tilt your head.

“Are you alright? I could get Doctor Flug if you're not feeling well.” But the villainess shakes her head viciously, clutching her middle even harder and you think you can hear a low gurgling.

    “Oh G-g-God, please not _him_! I’m fine, it's just, this p-place-", and as if that had been his cue, Blackhat appears once more but now the effect is a catastrophe in itself: Mawrasite shrieks, slaps her hands over her mouth and her waist splits open into a horrible  _maw_ of razor sharp teeth and a coiling tongue that promptly snaps at you and it is only thanks to your remaining nervousness that you’re quick enough to evade the hooked fangs.

    “Oh no! Oh no, no, no! I’m s-s- _sorry_ Lord Blackhat, it was behaving so well until now-, I- I just-" she’s close to tears now, frantically trying to shut the snapping jaws of her own body with her arms. You can only stare in horror, your hands already feeling for the knives again, but Blackhat pulls one of his better nightmare grimaces and Mawrasite’s surging form transforms back to that of a normal human in the blink of an eye. Yet the toothy chest piece you thought to be merely a clever fashion choice at first makes much more sense now: the teeth are the _actual_ monster's teeth.

    “Thank you.” She whispers, her cheeks burning red underneath the crimson mask. Blackhat chuckles menacingly.

    “I see, that parasite of yours is doing well as always, my dear Mawrasite. But apparently you haven’t been feeding it _enough_ , hm?” He adds with a probing glare and Mawrasite seems to shrink before his eye as she mumbles something so quiet that you can’t understand her at all.

“Speak up!” Blackhat barks and the villainess flinches, the teeth of her chest flaring slightly in response.

    “I- I said that there’s this new hero who started protecting the city and I haven’t been able to feed it properly in weeks because of her! She's too strong for me!” Her stomach gives another miserable growl and Blackhat procures a handkerchief from his coat, giving it to Mawrasite who quickly dabs at her teary eyes.

    “Now, now, is that _all_? You are in luck, my dear; exterminating pesky heroes is a specialty of my Organization, don't you know?” That makes the young woman with the terrible parasite chuckle weakly. “We can discuss the matter after the shoot. And if your parasite demands a snack in the meantime, feel free to help yourself to this useless human I keep around as of late.” Darting you another mean grin, Blackhat vanishes.

Mawrasite glances at you, tightly crossing her arms again, clutching the handkerchief in one gloved fist.

    “I- I’m really sorry it snapped at you, it's very starved and might have smelled your nervousness. But-but don’t worry, I won’t let it eat you like he said, n-no way!” Casting a quick glimpse around, she lowers her voice into the quietest whisper. “Y- you’re really nice. But don’t tell anyone I said that!!”

It takes you a second to process what she said and even longer to find a fitting response. But then you just smile at her and shake your head.

    “My lips are sealed. I’m _______, by the way.” Mawrasite gives you a surprised look.

    “You use your real name? No alias?”

You shrug, reaching for the door when you already hear someone new approaching outside.

    “Well, I’m kinda new to this whole villain-thing? I worked for someone else before, and I couldn’t really use the attention a flashy alias would have gotten me. I prefer to stay under the radar.”

Mawrasite blushes hard again, like she just put her foot in her mouth by asking.

    “O-oh, I see… well, you should think about it. It's really c-cool when people fear you just by hearing your name. Sure, it might get you on a hero's radar but that’s what the Organization is for. And when you work for L-Lord Blackhat personally, you learn from the best. T- _trust_ me. I was a nobody, a freak with a p-parasite who almost ate me before I got into the special villain course of his academy and learned how to control it and actually u-use its powers.”

You watch her leave, her words slowly sinking in. But then the doorbell rings and you're back to playing hostess.

 

 

 

* * *

*VIV: Very Important Villain

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyy Bosshat got you them Louboutin whaaaaat?! 
> 
> Unfortunately, the real name of the cool skeleton villain (check the Villainous Anniversary 00:10, second row from the top!!!) who we kept seeing in the orientation videos, so I named him Hunter for this fic! I really hope we get to see him in future episodes, as well as the other villains they teased!!!   
> Mawrasite is one of the professional villains we get to see in the Orientation Video: The missing cases of the KND Treehouse at 08:34 (go check out chrossrank ct on Youtube for English subtitles!) and I loooove her! She seems actually very sweet? 
> 
> Anyway, hope you like this chapter! **Next update on Friday 13th!!**


	19. We're All Mad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay my pretties, your poor author is just another little cog in the big wheel of capitalism herself and work hath beeneth exhausting, so I apologize for not updating on time ♥

  _“Oh I already know what service I’m gonna book her for.” Dark Phantom throws in with an absolutely nasty chuckle and now you flinch with a disgusted expression and shoot Blackhat a quick but apprehensive glance._

 

### 19\. We're All Mad

 

 

Roughly an hour later, you find yourself stuffed in the gloomy dining room with half a dozen dangerous individuals that all pride themselves to be called _super-villain_ , and who are all eyeing each other with more or less vile intentions when they think nobody is looking. To say you’re nervous would be a grave understatement if you’d ever heard one. How the _hell_ are you supposed to stop a fight between villains of their caliber all on your own?

Let’s say for example Metauro, a seven foot, muscly mountain of minotaur with shoulders as wide as you are tall, decides he’s had enough of Dark Phantom's constant verbal jabs against the aesthetic value of his face. What the fuck are you supposed to stop him with?! One of your tiny knives? And to be honest, you probably wouldn’t even bother to stop poor Metauro; that Dark Phantom guy definitely needed to be taken down a few notches!

If you previously would see Sans' skull floating before your inner eye when you thought about the term “disgusting pig", that mental image had now been thoroughly replaced the second you opened the door for Dark Phantom.

    “Ohoho, didn’t know Blackhat was offering _those_ particular services now, too!” he had leered, and you had nearly been able to _hear_ the sound of your clothes ripping to shreds as he shamelessly stripped you with his eyes. Every fiber in your body was begging you to gut this masked asshole on the front door step and tell Flug afterwards you didn’t think a clown like that would be on the guest list. Your hand had clutched the door so hard you could feel it splinter beneath your gloves but you refused to let go and do something you might regret later.

When Blackhat materialized to greet the newcomer, you almost fell around his neck out of sheer relief over the distraction. And you would have been okay if he killed you over it, death seemed a way better alternative than spending another second in Dark Phantom's presence, who was already trying to sneak a dark blue business card into your cleavage. Blackhat snatched it before he could however and the card incinerated between his fingers while he gave the villain a grin so murderous that Dark Phantom actually took a step away from you, nervously smoothing his silver mohawk. _Way to go boss_ , you thought with a miserable face, _you_ mark _your territory._

Fortunately the next guest was already at the door and you could finally ignore Dark Phantom, but _un_ fortunately he managed to slip an entire money clip into your shirt before you knew what the hell was happening. “See it as pay in advance.” He drawled and it was only because of the doorbell that you didn’t deck his entire backside with throwing knives as he sauntered up the stairs! Later, you realized that the moron had just given you a thousand Hatcoins, which was an actual currency you could use to buy exclusive stuff from the Black Hat Organization. So he probably didn’t have any actual superhuman abilities. He was just stinking rich. Emphasis on the _stinking_ part.

Suddenly the Supreme Leader Bonnivet, a cute, colorful, but very tiny alien conqueror, waves at you and you quickly hurry to her side, bending down to where she’s lounging on a pile of pillows on her seat.

    “Yes, Supreme Leader?” you say with a genuine smile. “Anything I can get for you?”

Bonnivet giggles, delighted, asking you for another cup of tea in her sweet lisp, caused by her enormous, bunny-like front teeth. She had arrived right after Dark Phantom and you immediately _liked_ her. Yes, she was a cruel intergalactic dictator who had enslaved dozens of civilizations already, yes, she was responsible for the extinction of a dozen other races that had refused to get conquered, and yes, she would probably _love_ to keep you as a weird pet on her home planet but she was very sweet and adorable about it. Plus, Dark Phantom seemed pretty scared of her so there was that.

You’re glad that 5.0.5 is here, too, helping you out with keeping the guests happy and you can tell this is not the first time he's done that either, which is amazing since he can’t actually talk himself. Flug was already busy with setting up the back part of the gallery for the next shots but you had managed to ask him, in disbelief, if these were really all the members of the VIV circle. The scientist had immediately broken out in a panicked sweat. No, those were _definitely_ not all the members but the rest was either too busy with destroying the heroes in their worlds or hadn’t even responded to the invitation which was the main reason for his nervousness. Usually the villains would _fight_ over who’d get the chance to be in one of the more prestigious special videos of the Black Hat Organization, mostly to get even more infamous themselves, so their silence was concerning.

Not for you, though, you were too worried about everything going smoothly than wondering why the other villains went silent all of a sudden.

Bonnivet thanks you for the tea, patting your hand like a grandma, or the Queen herself, with a “thank you dearie" but your heart melts anyway. How can an evil conqueror be so adorable?! And exactly how _evil_ does she have to be for Lord Blackhat to bow down all the way and kiss the back of her hand, which she took with the same delighted giggle as the tea now?

Hunter, the skeletal General of the Undead, picks up his conversation with Metauro about sharpening huge weapons more efficiently, and Mawrasite carefully nibbles on one of the cookies 5.0.5 had whipped up last-minute.

It seems to be going smoothly so far.

Well, if you left out the scrutinizing glare Lady Naga, the last to arrive, has been considering you with the entire time of course. You can feel her eyes even now, drilling a hole into your back while you fix another teensy expresso for Metauro that he gingerly picks up between two of his massive fingers to drink, since not even his pinky would fit through the handle.

But before you can think of a polite way to ask what the fuck her problem is, the door to the dining room opens and Flug sticks his paper bag in again to get the next candidate.

    “Dark Phantom, we're ready for your shoot.” He announces and the supervillain finally drags his dirty, spiked boots off the table to swagger through the door, his long nose high in the air, swinging his cape. God, you wanted to teach that asshole a lesson so badly! But now it won’t be that long anymore until this ordeal is finally over!

Once the door closes, you dart forward to wipe down the table where he had parked his boots, when you suddenly find yourself face to face with Lady Naga, and she is positively _radiating_ hostility.

    “Uh… excuse me…” you mumble and try to move around her, but her armored glove wraps around your arm and pulls you back, shoving you onto the empty chair. _Uh-oh. Not good._ In fact, this seems really bad!

    “Alright and now you talk.” She hisses in her Japanese accent, her yellow eyes narrowing behind the horned oni-mask that’s hiding her face. You stare at her, alarmed and completely thrown off track.

At first you had thought that Lady Naga was related to Dementia, since she was also – well – a lizard-person. But apparently the supervillain was the real deal, and not a crazy punk with weird gecko abilities and green hair. Lady Naga was covered in shiny, emerald green scales from neck to toe, and her eyes were definitely not human but entirely golden, with lance shaped pupils and a second pair of thin lids. She did have a thick, green braid, however, so there were similarities between her and Dem. Safe for the long claws, which she now presses into the skin of your neck.

Your fingers flinch on your thighs, an instinctive reaction to grab one of the knives beneath your skirt and stab the ever-loving shit out of her, but you stop yourself in the last second. Even though you had told Flug you were willing to take the blame should something go wrong, you really want to avoid any trouble if you can help it! So instead you grab Naga's wrist and make as innocent a face as you can.

    “I’m sorry?” You keep your eyes focused on your opponent, but you notice the other villains moving on their seats in your peripheral, and hear 5.0.5.’s concerned growl.

    “Hey, what gives, freak?!” Bonnivet shouts from her mountain of pillows and even Mawrasite has stood up from her chair, her hands halfway reaching out for you.

    “Y-yeah, what are you doing? S-she didn’t do anything wrong!” she protests, but sits down at once when Lady Naga shoots her a crushing glare over the shoulder. Hunter and Metauro just share a look like they’re curious to see how this will play out. _Double uh-oh._

    “Lord Blackhat told me to skin this pathetic creature alive should she annoy me, as I’m sure he told you all something along those lines as well. And Lord Blackhat never says anything without a meaning if he bothers to speak. So: tell me why I shouldn’t follow his suggestion, _baka_?” Lady Naga hisses, golden eyes flashing dangerously at you.

She’s right, in a way. Blackhat had told every single one of his guests to basically brutally murder you should you step on their toes or just look at them funny, which at first had seemed like his usual idea of endearment to you, but now that Lady Naga brings it up again, it makes you wonder why exactly the boss had even bothered to greet each individual villain personally at the door when before he had told you to keep them entertained so they wouldn't _pester_ him. Sounds a little like he had tried to instigate this. And by a little you mean a lot.

    “ _Did_ I do anything to annoy you, Lady Naga?” you ask sweetly and smile despite your high strung nerves. You hate to writhe before them like some lower servant, but you really don’t want them to test you in a fight. You just want to get this day over with and then take a hike through Hatsville, unperturbed, for fuck's sake!

Your thoughts are interrupted when Naga tightens her grip on you and pulls out a huge, rectangular knife that looks suspiciously like Japanese steel. What a beauty! If only it wasn’t aimed at you.

    “You _annoy_ me by your mere presence! I don’t buy your little act. You may give the perfect little, if maybe a bit dumb hostess but I don’t _like_ the look in your eyes. And I refuse to believe Lord Blackhat would bother to keep an insignificant _human_ around just for this line of work… no, you’re something _else_. And you’re going to tell me who you are and what it is that you do in the Organization or I _will_ make you talk!”

Your answer is a short, surprised laugh that you absolutely fail to suppress. Lady Naga looks like she's about to slash your throat open.

“What in the devil’s name are you laughing at you little bitch?!”

Now you drop the polite smile that has been making your jaw hurt all day and openly sneer at her.

    “It's funny how you think a punk like _you_ can make me talk.”

Mawrasite is shaking her head at you with wide eyes and the three other villains shoot you a disbelieving stare. 5.0.5 has crept closer to you, a frantic look on his face but you wave him off with a grin. “Don't worry, bud. I got this.”

    “You seem to have forgotten the position you’re in!” Lady Naga snarls, her hand grabbing the collar of your shirt to yank you off the chair and up to her face. With a sour pout you pointedly pick her fingers off the fabric, ignoring her knife.

    “And _this_ is finest silk that I would really hate to have to pay off, thank you very much. In case _you_ have already forgotten… I work for _Blackhat_! How the hell do you think my job-interview went? There’s few things I’m scared of nowadays and you, _lady_ , ain’t one of ‘em!”

That finally seems to have gotten through to her and she recoils for a second, before she remembers Blackhat's invitation what to do with you.

    “You have no right – no right! – to be here! He said he wouldn’t take any more underlings and yet here you are, a wimpy, pathetic loser, when it could have been _me_!” She dashes forward, swinging her knife, but you had anticipated that and snatch the silver plate full of cookies off the table, blocking the first incoming blow with ease. The second, a backhand with the same knife, aims right for your face and you jump back, rolling over the table in one nimble motion and finally getting something between you and the mad villainess, who shouts at your audacity to not stay still and get murdered.

    “Fight me, coward!” Naga roars and leaps over the table after you. The way she fights, and her entire demeanor immediately remind you of Undyne, the fish-lady monster that had worked for a rivalling gang from Central City. And you had danced with the likes of her a few times, the long, bulging scar on your thigh a permanent reminder. Reflexively, you grab an empty chair and toss it in Naga's way in the last second. Wood splinters, Mawrasite yelps and hides under the table, but the other villains just watch the fight with enough alertness to not get tangled up in it themselves.

    “Come on, dearie, annihilate her!” Bonnivet cheers you on with a toast from her teacup. But you still don’t draw your own, hidden knives. It’s an element of surprise you can’t give away too early in the fight. You avoid another swing and swiftly throw the plate you're still holding at her. It hits her square in the facemask with a resounding _dang_ and Lady Naga roars in wordless fury.

    “This is ridiculous, I’m not fighting you!” you yell, hoping that Flug or Blackhat or even a hatbot would soon show up so you could get this back under control. Then you see something blue out the corner of your eye and shout: “5.0.5, no! Bad bear! I told you to stay out of this!”

The blue bear whines in distress and suddenly bolts out the door, probably to get Flug. Or Blackhat. Oh God, he wouldn’t actually get Dem, would he?! You can’t say which one you’d prefer but you don’t have time to think much about it, the cleaver comes down on you with incredible speed and you jump back again, bumping against one of the pedestals with Faberge eggs, which means that you’ve been backed into a corner!

    “Gotcha now!” Naga barks in triumph, drawing up her knee to kick you into the wall.

 _Big mistake you haughty bitch_ , you think, pushing away from the wall to attack her with a quick straight right, aiming for her unprotected throat. Your hand gets cut by one of the curled teeth on her mask, but you land the hit anyway, feel the resistance from her scaly skin and the harder thyroid beneath, and then hear the satisfying sound of Lady Naga trying to breathe in shock. Yet that breath stops abruptly after a second and now she gasps, unable to inhale.

You swiftly move around her back and wrestle the huge knife out of her hand. With deadly precision you throw it and it chips the rim of her mask before it slams into the wallpaper and stays there, two inches deep inside the wall.

    “You done?!” you shout at her back and keep the tension in your body despite your obvious victory. She could get _really_ angry now. With half an ear you hear Bonnivet laughing like a child and soft applause from Hunter and Metauro. Mawrasite just sighs in relief. Lady Naga gargles unintelligibly and turns around to you, murder in her yellow eyes. You draw your hands up, staring her down. “Round two? I’m down, but you should really get that breath under control first or this will be disappointingly short I’m afraid. Plus, I doubt you really want me to mess you up before your shoot, huh?” you add, sneering. When she reaches over her back you snort and do the same, pulling the second knife you just stole from her out of the waistband of your skirt. “Looking for this?”

Now the other villains make awed sounds and even Lady Naga looks a bit baffled. But instead of throwing this one into the wall as well, you twirl it and hold it out to her the way you had done after Blackhat had chucked the Bowie knife at you. A peace offering.

“You know, you could have just _asked_ me like a normal person who I am and what exactly I'm doing here. And maybe I would have told you that I didn’t come here _asking_ for a job and that I am a thief by trade who’s trying to pay off a debt by working for Lord Blackhat.” You tell her, exasperated but without any anger, even though you think that she must be mad if she actually _wants_ to work directly for Blackhat. The only person you know that’s here _willingly_ and thoroughly enjoys herself, and his cruel reign over the organization, is Dementia, and she’s undoubtedly batshit _insane_.

Lady Naga slowly grabs the knife you're holding out to her, looking at her reflection in the flawless steel. Her eyes narrow in thought.

    “Rule… rule number 42: Don't stop attacking until the heart of your enemy stops beating!” She jumps forward, pushing you to the ground before you know what's happening. At the table, Hunter groans in disappointment while Metauro laughs resoundingly, banging a huge fist onto the wood in applause.

    “Ah, too bad little thief, we were rooting for you!” he hollers, but now you’re way too busy to actually fight for your life than to pay your audience much attention. Lady Naga straddles your middle, grabbing your neck with her free hand, the knife rising above her head like a miniature guillotine. You claw at her arm, unable to reach the knives under your skirt in this position, kick and writhe beneath her, your eyes glued to the razor sharp blade while you’re desperately trying to come up with a way to get out of her grasp without your own knives, but your brain is disappointingly vacant.

Then, like a mental slap, you remember the hair-ornament Blackhat had personally put on you, and your hands fly up to your bun, drawing the two hidden, needle-thin daggers and with a loud scream you plunge them into Lady Naga's neck just as her cleaver comes down, slashing her throat open from the collarbone up to her jaw.

Green blood showers you in a gory spray and you barely dodge the knife that falls out of her hand as she tries to keep the life inside her body. With another hissed grunt you push the bleeding villain off of you, roll her over, and grab the knife she dropped, raising it like she had just a second ago. Lizard blood is dripping from your face, your hair and your hands but you just stare into her wide opened eyes, a snarl on your face.

    “Here's a rule for ya… don’t be fucking _rude_!” The blade sings from the speed when you bring it down, splitting Lady Naga's skull clean in two, along with the mask.

Before you have time to even reflect about the fact that you had just brutally murdered someone, the body beneath you vanishes into smoke all of a sudden, dropping the knife and you onto the floor. Your poor, adrenaline-flooded brain struggles to comprehend what the hell is going on, until a slow-clapped applause jerks you from your perplexity.

    “What a pathetic excuse for a fight to the death. Any drunken saloon-brawl would have been more exciting to watch, but at least you managed not to die.” Lord Blackhat comments and you wheel around to where he manifests from inside the wall, giving you a hard glare with his mouth twisted in irritation. “Thank you for your participation, Lady Naga.” He adds, a lot more civil, and the wallpaper next to him moves suddenly, the distorted shape turning into the colorful form of Lady Naga who had been camouflaged, leaning with crossed arms against the wall, her golden eyes narrowed at you behind the mask. She looks entirely unharmed and you glance to the ground in front of you, then back to her. All the blood has vanished as well.

Another illusion…

    “Oh, but we were very entertained by this live showcase, Lord Blackhat.” Bonnivet chimes, clapping her hands together. "Please tell me that this lovely lady is available for hire! I can already think of something she might be able to steal for me! What am I saying, I’d also pay just for her company!”

    “I- I could really use her help, too. That heroine in my city uses a modified weapon she could steal. If- if it's not as expensive to hire her as Dementia. I really can’t afford _her_ right now.” Mawrasite says, throwing you a hopeful glance, that you return with a confused blink. You’re still not fully grasping what this is all about, and you completely miss how the door opens for Dark Phantom to enter, followed by a very exhausted and angry looking Flug.

Blackhat grins widely and you can hear the dollar signs – or rather Hatcoins – _caching_ ing behind his monocle.

    “We still need to wait for the results of her first official mission before I will even consider offering her services to my network.” He dampens their enthusiasm, his grin turning a tad sharper. “It may well be that this is the first and last time you see her… _alive._ ”

    “Oooooh I already know what kinda _service_ I’m gonna book her for.” Dark Phantom throws in with an absolutely nasty chuckle and now you finally shake your dumbfounded paralysis, flinching with a disgusted expression and shooting Blackhat a quick but pleading glance. Thankfully, your boss looks just as repulsed as you feel.

    “Not for that, you classless filth!” He snaps at the villain. “I’d rather hang myself with your entrails than ever consider running something as base as a brothel! No matter how _profitable_ that might be. Rule number 17: a villain of _true_ power must always maintain a certain amount of class in any situation. Or do you need a private lesson to brush up your memory?” Blackhat growls, raising a glowing hand.

Dark Phantom gulps and quickly shakes his head. Flug clears his throat and all villains turn their heads towards him.

    “Umm, Lady Naga, your shoot is the next one, if you would…” he says, already inching towards the door. Lady Naga huffs an annoyed breath and pushes off the wall to pull her knife from the wallpaper and follow the evil scientist. But then she stops in front of you, staring you down, her free hand making a demanding gesture. You quickly stand up and hand her the other knife which she puts into the sheaths on her back from where you had stolen it. So Blackhat must’ve casted the illusion right before you had “killed" her. Which means that the throat-punch you had managed to land did actually hurt her. _Good_.

Before she leaves with Flug, she leans towards you, hissing under her breath: “I’m looking forward to a rematch where I won’t have to hold back because Lord Blackhat ordered me to. Next time you won't get off so easily.”

To your own surprise you snort and throw her a suggestive wink.

    “Oh shit, if you wanted to get me _off_ , you could've just asked. _That_ would be a rematch _I'm_ looking forward to.” You whisper back, grinning when Lady Naga recoils and bumps against the table, her eyes widened behind the mask and while you can’t see it, you’re pretty sure she’s blushing, too. Well, if a lizard-woman can actually blush that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask, yes, I wrote down all the villain rules from the orientation videos and now I'm gonna fill out the missing ones :B 
> 
> Dark Phantom seemed like a asshole in the videos he was in, so he's gonna be one, and I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT LADY NAGA THAT DESIGN IS TOO COOL TO BE LEGAL!!
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter!
> 
>  **Next update on the 27th of September, sadly** because guess what, work's going to continue being a bitch and a half and with a work-life balance of 80 percent work and 20 percent exhaustion I'm gonna die when I'm 30!


	20. Mean to Me

_A terribly cynical part of you eggs you on to wave at him, but you’re too confused to move and just return his stare. Your instincts tell you that something bad is going to happen._

 

 

### 20\. Mean To Me

 

 

You manage to get through the rest of the VIV shoot without causing another fight and your mood has actually improved since your throw down against Lady Naga, because the rest of the villains – except for Dark Phantom but you had chosen to ignore the fact he even existed – were treating you with a lot more respect and interest now that your secret was out.

Blackhat left after his grand scheme was over, already visibly annoyed by everything and everyone again and you were more than relieved about that. You couldn’t help it… even though he treated you like garbage every day already, his demeanor today seemed unnecessarily _mean_ to you. _Uncalled_ _for_ even. But you’ll probably get an opportunity to address that in a hot minute, since the last guest – Mawrasite – has just walked out the door, after waving shyly at you, and your entire body slumps, abandoning the tension you’ve kept up all day as you sink against the huge front door, wiping your face with your gloved hands and massaging your aching jaw.

    “Uuuugh…” you groan loudly. 5.0.5 rubs your shoulder with a commiserative string of growls and you pat his paw, giving him a tired smile. “Thank you so much for helping me, bud… I don’t know what I would have done without-"

Before you can finish the sentence, your body gets flung into the air until your back slams against the ceiling and you stare with wide eyes at the floor, where 5.0.5 has jumped back a good meter, staring up at you, just as startled. Then the ceiling surges and swallows you like a cold, hungry swamp. 

Darkness engulfs you once again, horrible, agonized screams echoing all around you and you hold your breath in hope that it will soon spit you back out!

    “Huhuhuhu, fancy meeting you here, _______.” Wingdings chuckles and you snap your eyes open in shock, a gasp escaping your chest. There he is, a ghostly, white mask of jagged teeth and crazy, pixelated eyes, floating next to you in the whirling darkness, one cheek propped up on a hand, six others floating around him and signing along as he speaks.

    “Y- you’re _alive_?!” you whisper but Wingdings only places a few fingers in front of his terrible skeleton-grin, his eye sockets crinkling in amusement.

    “Shh! Shshshsh, you will forget you saw me in a bit. But what you _will_ remember is this:” Instead of telling you, he presses a purple glowing hand to your forehead, the hole in his palm right over your eyes, and your vision distorts as you look through it, until you blink and find yourself back in a lab; in _Wingdings'_ old lab, standing in front of his desk that's littered with notes and print-outs and a heavy book. The same book you took from Blackhat's library. It's opened somewhere in the middle, but you can’t see the number of the page and the image is already fading!

    “No, wait... wait!” you sputter, confused. This was important, quick, you had to memorize this page! The title, where was it?

The Darkness spits you out onto the floor of Blackhat's office and you pant for air, wondering why this had taken so long. _Woah, what a ride. Extra suffery._ Before you can think about getting up, a dark shadow falls over you and you flinch, already expecting some form of physical abuse.

Yet Blackhat just scrutinizes you for a long moment, his one eye narrowed in suspicion. You keep very still and try to ignore the cold sweat that’s running over your back. _Oh jeez what did I do now?!_ You didn’t get any chance before to worry about what would happen _after_ the shooting - the villains had kept you busy for the rest of the afternoon, so now you’re more than anxious about Blackhat's impression of how this day went.

Would he approve the fight against Lady Naga? Okay, to be fair he had already bashed your performance back in the dining room, but you never knew, maybe it had just been because of the guests present and he was actually pleased with how you fought. Besides, all the other villains had seemed to be very impressed by your-

    “Pathetic.” Somehow he manages to pronounce each syllable more crassly than the one before.

You blink rapidly at him, your mouth falling open.

    “You’re kidding me!” You scoff once you’ve recovered from your initial shock and quickly try to scramble to your feet, but now one of the high heeled pumps wobbles beneath you and you promptly fall back on your ass, hissing at the pain. Blackhat leans over you as you clutch your throbbing ankle.

    “Do I **_look_** like I’m kidding?” he growls, his demonic voice sending goosebumps down your limbs, and you already know what horrible nightmare-face he’s sporting without having to look.

    “ _Probably_ not.” You shoot back angrily, not bothering to lift your head, and now he grabs you by the slim tie around your neck, jerking you to your feet by it. All you see are teeth, huge and sharp and glistening green from slobber. The next thing you know, your boss pushes you face first into the wood of his desk, your nose giving a dangerous _crunch_ and you yell out in pain, only to choke miserably when his grip around the tie tightens and pulls it mercilessly taught against your throat.

    “I am not entirely sure whether I should like that unbreakable spirit of yours, or curse it to the pits of Hell…” Blackhat muses above your head, the fingers of his other hand drumming a lively rhythm onto the hard desk. You squirm desperately, clawing at the tie that’s strangling you slowly but surely.

“On one hand, I'm very intrigued to find out just what it takes to finally, _permanently_ break it… but on the other hand… the audacity with which you wield it… is really starting to _piss me off._ ”

 _Fuck_. You know you’ve gone too far when Blackhat out of all people loses his composure and starts swearing like a sailor. _Why_ did you have to constantly mouth off like that?! You knew what he was capable off, and how he reacted to being disrespected, not to mention that talk you had in the kitchen this very morning, so why couldn’t you just shut up for once in your life?!

“But to be fair… you did manage to surprise me today.” Suddenly the cruel pressure around your throat eases and you breathe frantically, exhaling shakily with a pained moan. Cautiously glancing at Blackhat next to you, you slowly stand up and move away from him, rubbing your neck with one hand, the other steadying you against the desk.

    “Because…” you croak, “because I killed Lady Naga's doppelganger?”

Blackhat grimaces like you just showed him an especially gross insect. Although, he probably would have preferred something like that over what you had just said.

    “I will get to _that_ in a minute. No, what surprised me was the interest of the other villains to actually hire you after that _disgraceful_ embarrassment. Clearly they all failed to realize what a hopeless case you are and simply fell for your base charms! But as long as I can make _any_ money off of you, I suppose it’s an excuse for you to live!” He stops in his ranting when you pout at him and cross your arms like a child. His viper pupil darts up and down your frame in disbelief. “What… what in the devil are you _doing_?!”

    “I don't get what you’re disappointed at, boss!” You blurt out, gesturing to the door. “I did what you wanted and behaved myself, I kept the guests entertained and didn’t let them trash the mansion because of some stupid rivalries! They didn’t wander off to _pester_ you and nobody complained about anything being wrong! _You_ were the one who tried to make them attack me and the only one who did was Lady Naga, who obviously was in on the whole spiel in the first place! So, technically, I did. Do. _Okay_! And by the way, do you _have_ to be so mean?! I get it, you're evil as all get-out, big whoop, but I'm _trying_ , for crying out loud! Sorry if I'm only human and not some freakishly mutated super-villain!”

Lord Blackhat stares at you, looking like he’s suffering from a burst blood vessel in his brain, caused _precisely_  by the last two sentences you just hurled at him in your anger. But when you already fear he’s going to explode, he exhales forcefully, walks around his desk and looks out the huge window, one hand on his back like always, the other doing something in front of him you can’t see, but there’s the distant noise of an explosion from outside.

    “The only favor… I will ever grant you without charging you for it, is going to be me, pretending that I did not just hear this idiocy out of your mouth.” His head snaps all the way around to you with a cracking noise, his monocle gleaming red, and his visible eye rolled back into his skull. “ ** _Sit!_** ”

After a punishment like the one you just had, you automatically obey his command without a second thought, and promptly fall on your ass. Blackhat’s raucous laughter is the final clue you need to realize that he didn’t summon a chair for you this time on purpose.

    “Mwahahahar, ah, I’ve been looking forward to this all day! I just wish I had gotten the cambot up here in time to record it! Muehehe…” he's still chuckling to himself by the time you've pulled yourself back up on the desk, giving him a defeated nod.

    “Alright, you got me, sir. Can I have a chair now? I promise I won’t spout any more _idiocy_.” You mumble with a sigh but quickly flinch back when he slams a clawed hand on the desk, scratching up the wood.

    “If you make another stupid promise like that I will personally snap your neck!”

    “P- point taken.”

Finally he relents and conjures up an uncomfortable chair that you sink down on in complete and utter exhaustion. Suddenly you feel every injury and sore muscle in your body; the branding, the freshly burned bite-wound in your shoulder, the cut where Naga's mask had slashed the back of your hand open, even the spot on your head from the beginning of this gruesome change of scenery, where one of Sans' guards had sucker punched you! “Ow…” you groan and rub your smarting left wrist that’s still a little sprained and throbbing after the hectic fight with Naga.

    “Feeling sore?” Blackhat asks furtively with a knowing grin. “A nice, hot _bath_ might help.”

To your own surprise you manage to laugh at that, shooting a round of snapping finger guns at him.

    “Hah, _yeah_ , like I’m ever gonna fall for that again.”  Your own grin falters when his slants in a sardonic way.

    “Do you honestly think I would require _bath additives_ to paralyze you?” he snickers maliciously and you drop the finger guns.

    “Uh, I kinda did, until now that is.” _Great._ Now you’ll never feel safe in your life again.

    “Let’s get this over with.” He suddenly barks. “I'm getting bored of you unsuccessfully trying to outwit me. Tell me the reason your fight against Lady Naga was a _disaster_!”

You think hard, try to remember the smallest details about the fight, but it had all been over so quickly! What had went wrong, and when?! Was its maybe…

    “Because… I gave her the knife back? Because I didn’t kill her right away, like she said?” That had to be it! She even told you the number of that stupid rule and all! But to your surprise…

    “No! While it was a grave error and an inexcusable mistake under any different circumstances, I understand your reason behind it.” Blackhat snaps and you blink, confounded.

    “Y- you do?” The Crawling Chaos being empathetic?! Able to put himself into another person’s shoes and understand why you didn’t want to behave like a psychopath and kill someone?! Get out of here! Yet Blackhat twirls his hand around with a nod.

    “While Lady Naga was the one who attacked you, you knew she was still a VIP member of the Black Hat Organization, with a significant monetary value to me, one I would _hate_ to lose and one that _you_ would never be able to replace. Moreover, she was here as a guest, and you somehow had enough brain cells left to know how incredibly bad for business it is to kill guests under your roof. So, you did well sparing her life. No, what I’m talking about is the way you fought _after_ you handed her back the knife you took!” Now he actually counts the number of errors on his fingers, his face twisted into an angry snarl.

“Her second assault took you completely off-guard even though it was plain to see that she would attack again and you just let it happen like a fool! She gave you one opening after the other, had no defense up whatsoever, took forever to strike, and yet you only found your bearings after _I_ had to remind you of the hidden knives! Pathetic!”

You ignore the mistakes he’s listing and narrow your eyes at him, straightening in your chair.

    “So that _was_ you? That mental… push? Okay can you _actually_ control minds or what the hell am I supposed to think here?!” you blurt out. Blackhat groans, smacks a hand over his face and drags it down, _ripping_ his entire skin off in the process. You make a retching sound in your throat when he just slaps the bloodied flap onto his desk with a wet noise, his now lidless, bloodshot eye piercing you in a horrible fashion. His teeth look even bigger, now that there’s no lips to cover them.

You just stare at each other for a minute. Then you huff, sit back and mutter an inaudible apology. Blackhat drums his fingers on the desk until you look back up and into his skinned face that still looks angry and impatient even without any actual facial expressions.

    “Oh for fuck's… I’m _sorry_ , Lord Blackhat, for interrupting you yet _again_ , please accept my humble _apology_ and do continue with how I managed to disappoint you in every way, shape or _form_ , I shall not run my bitch-ass mouth again while you do so.” you prattle down, shrugging when he shoots you a very baffled look. “What, you want me to write it down, too?!”

He scrutinizes you intently, and you’re more than glad when his skin suddenly materializes back over his face so that you can actually see the thoughtful frown he’s wearing, probably because of your choice of words which is, granted, very unusual for a common criminal like you, but you had managed to educate yourself enough in South City's public library to polish your vocabulary quite a bit beyond that of a street urchin. But then Blackhat just shakes his head and sighs, resigning.

    “Nevermind that. Keep the knives; after all you did actually surprise me by not getting yourself killed. What’s more important now is your first official mission outside the Black Hat Organization under Void's lead, which will be tomorrow. If you manage to complete it successfully, you will get to work in earnest for me. If not… well, then let’s just say you won’t have to worry your pretty little head about me messing with your mind any longer.” His grin is back with full force, as is the silent excitement in his eye. You gulp and nod quietly.

Over the fuss with Wingdings, the VIVs, and getting rid of the tracker, you had completely forgotten the heist you were supposed to pull off with Mr. “Professional supervillain, actually?!”. Yet… to be perfectly honest, you were looking forward to stealing that artifact!

    “I'll try not to disappoint you… all that much, boss.” Then you just sit there, tapping your fingers together, waiting for something else but Blackhat only keeps his thoughtful stare on you. _What the hell is up with him? Why is he looking at me like I poisoned his food or something like that?!_ When he still doesn’t say anything else, you clear your throat and shrug.

“Uh, I should… go and help Flug clean up the dining room.” He doesn’t stop you when you get up from the chair, but his single eye never leaves you either as you slowly walk backwards to the door. When he still doesn’t call you back, you turn on your heels, nearly tripping over them again, and finally hurry out of his office, hating the way your hips are forced to sway in those stupid shoes!

You almost run right into Flug outside, who gives a startled squeak when you burst out the door.

    “Woah! It's just me, doc.” You calm him with a snort and bend down to finally get out of the pumps. A sigh escapes your lips when you dig your maltreated toes into the plush runner of the hallway. Flug glances at the door to Blackhat's office, clearly not really that keen on going in, but probably having to anyway. You cock your head and wave a hand before his goggles.

“Hey, Flug… you okay? Boss already slapped me around a good bit so I don’t think his mood is as bad as it was right after the shoot. Do you need anything else done around here? If not, I’m pretty beat myse-"

    “Oh, yeah, you _could_ do something.” Flug promptly interrupts you and pushes a key card into your hand. “That’s the card to Dementia's room. I think she deserves to stretch her legs after being in restraints for half a day. Just make sure she doesn’t decide to take all that pent up, malicious energy out on you. The VIV members were very impressed by you, so it would be a shame if we’d have to cancel all those pre-orders before you even got the chance to get approved for any real villain-work.” He chuckles to himself, not noticing the glare you're shooting him.

    “Yeah, what the hell do I do when Dem decides to bite me? Shouldn’t I get some… iunno, _shots_ first?” you gripe, just for the hell of it. The evil plane-enthusiast waves you off.

    “Oh come now, you have very quick reflexes. And if she does manage to bite you despite that, I have some tetanus-shots ready for such a case.”

Before you can protest, or even get the chance to get out of those clothes, he’s already called one of the hatbotlers to take you down to the restricted area where Dementia is being held, and you run after the speedy little robot, who doesn’t bother to slow down for you whatsoever. So they don’t just share the _visuals_ of BH, apparently.

Dementia's “room" is located in the lower levels of the manor, like all potentially dangerous things, except of course for the big boss himself. But the robot henchman takes you through a short, underground tunnel beneath the lab, ending in front of a huge set of metal doors that are covered in scratch marks and spray painted graffiti, leaving no doubt as to who exactly lives here. Or rather, gets locked up in here.

The robot gives you an angry bleep and you quickly swipe the card before the electronic lock, taking a hasty step back when the doors open with a loud hiss and loads of cold air wafting over the floor. You take the second of waiting to put your shoes back on; as uncomfortable as you think they are, it’s probably better than the ice cold metal floor.

The hangar behind the double doors is huge, stretching over a hundred feet in both length and width, with a small tower built in the front of a platform which the hatbotler promptly races towards. You look around the vast room while you hurry after it, immediately spotting a good dozen of security cameras, red blinking warning lights on the walls, and safety tape around a giant hatch in the ground before the tower. An arsenal of machinery is attached to the ceiling and you can even make out a railing system that leads to another gate in the ceiling, labeled “cryo-storage". A metal cage is swaying slightly from a thick cable. The strange setup both confuses and alarms you and you look from the ceiling to the closed hatchway in the floor, furrowing your brow.

_Wait… don’t tell me they’re keeping Dementia locked up down there in the dark?! That’s awful!_

Yet, knowing Flug and especially Blackhat, it's pretty damn likely that this is exactly the case here. Despite your own experiences with Dementia, or maybe because of them, that thought makes you incredibly angry. Sure, she was completely crazy and probably extremely dangerous but that was no reason to lock her up like a wild animal, right?! Worse, you had seen wild animals in a zoo once and even they had nicer places to stay than Dementia, an actual human being!

    “Step-away-from-the-hatch-during-unlocking-procedure!” The hatbotler barks at you and you climb the stairs to the inside of the tower, where it starts to operate a few levers and switches on the massive console desk. You have studied the camera feed from the inside of the cell, but now the hatch in the ceiling opens and the cage slowly disappears inside, so you look around the small security room. Besides from the screen with the green infrared video, there’s a feeding schedule, a log with accidents, Dementia's ankle monitor readings…

    “Help, somebody help me, aaaah!” The frightened outcry makes you shoot back around to the window. The cage is slowly lowering down again, but now there is someone trapped inside it, wearing a colorful suit with a golden cape, looking every bit a hero as you look out of character in your outfit. He’s trying frantically to bend the bars apart, but stops when your eyes meet, and then he reaches a hand out of the cage for you instead, his eyes wide and scared behind the blue face-mask. A terribly cynical and evil part of you eggs you on to just wave at him, but you’re too confused to move at all, and simply return his desperate stare, stunned into silence. Your instincts tell you that something extremely bad is going on here.

“Y-you there! Please, help me! I have to get out of here, I have to warn- oh God what _is that_?!” During his frantic plea, the cage has disappeared inside the now opened hatch in the ground and the next thing you hear is a feral snarling and then the pained, horrified screams of the hero echoing around the empty room, along with the bone-rattling sound of something bodily being _torn apart._

You just stare into the pitch black rectangle in the ground, seeing more smudged graffiti on the walls, reading Blackhat x Dem and the sorts, without really noticing it. The cable of the cage whips around like something down there is flinging the metal structure from one side to the other like a dog would with a toy, before it stops completely. It's suddenly dead silent for a second and you can hear your own, thundering heartbeat in your ears. Then the hatbotler pulls the cage back up, or rather what’s left of it.

The iron bars, which the hero hadn’t been able to pull apart, are completely trashed, frayed metal sticking into the air, and one side of the cage only hangs on by a little piece.

    “Prepare-for-releasing-Dementia. Security-stand-by.” The hatbotler spins its head around to you with a crunching sound, releasing one claw-hand to shoo you out of the tower and you tentatively stilt down the stairs, swallowing against the choked up feeling in your throat as you slowly approach the hole in the ground.

At the same time, a platform gets hoisted up and not half a minute later, Dementia’s yellow, mismatched eyes pierce you where you stand, a manic, blood-smeared grin on her face.

    “Ahahahahaharr! Aww, how nice of you to bring me _dessert_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homegirl's gonna vore ya whoops!
> 
>  **Next update on the 6th of October!** with some major plot reveals! (well, for all those who haven't figured it out by now ;) )


	21. The Black Pharaoh

_“Awfully nosy, aren’t you? Oh well, I suppose that’s a thief for you, always sticking your nose into other people's business.” So, he’s not going to actually spill some evil beans. Figures._

 

 

### 21\. The Black Pharaoh

 

 

 You openly stare at Dementia while she has her laughing fit, completely taken aback by what you’re seeing before you. The crazy lizard-lady is wrapped up in a large straight-jacket with only her legs peeking out, her hood gone, so now you witness the full chaos of her hair for the first time. The part of her red bangs that’s usually hidden beneath the lizard-hoodie sticks up in the air like two red horns, making her look even more insane than when she’s in her full punkrock gear, and now you think that her everyday clothes are a lot tamer than Dem _au naturel_.

In addition to the straight-jacket she's also strapped into a metal framework, but before you can give that a closer look Dementia wiggles around and suddenly jumps down from the broken restraining device, somehow still wearing the jacket. Yet you doubt that this is gonna be an issue for her, and suddenly you realize just in how dangerous of a situation you’re actually in!

    “Uh, hey, Dee…” you say quickly and take a cautious step back, your high heels making a loud clacking sound on the metal. Immediately Dementia looks you over, scrutinizes every inch of you, and her brows already draw together in growing anger as she bares her teeth and rips the straight-jacket apart with one fierce flex. _Uh-oh,_ your mind thinks, elaborately. _This is bad. Again!_

When Dementia stalks towards you, with that intense, burning glare trained on your body, you freeze where you stand, knowing immediately not to make any sudden movements now. There’s a warning bleep coming from the tower behind you, followed by the sharp sound of guns being loaded, but you keep your eyes on Dem and hold your breath as she reaches out and fingers the red silk blouse you’re wearing.

    “What’s with that… _fancy_ getup?” she mutters. Her lips - with the hero’s blood still on them – part into another crazed, teeth-baring grin. You notice that a piece of golden cape is stuck between her fangs. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to… _impress someone_?!” Her fist grabs hold of your shirt and your brain threatens to short-circuit at the prospect of getting murdered right here and now for wearing the wrong _clothes_ , and not to mention your bad conscience from getting kissed by Blackhat _twice_! _You_ had only tried to get him to bite you, it wasn’t like you had been out to seduce him on his fucking desk! Wait… seducing… it had worked with Lady Naga, right?

Despite the danger in front of you, and your resulting fear, you manage a crooked smirk and cock an eyebrow at Dementia. She’s probably gonna kill you with her bare fists anyway, so why not roll with the punches?

    “Actually, I was hoping to impress _you_.” You purr and look down to where her fist is curled in your shirt. “Nice of you to help me out of these clothes already.”

Dementia instantly drops her furious snarl and gives you a perplexed look, but only for a second before her wide grin returns, albeit way less deadly, and she finally lets go of you. For a horrible moment you try to figure out what you would have done if she had actually decided to take you up on that offer! Yet it looks like you played your aces right: she chuckles and winks at you, taking a step back.

    “Ohoho, that’s very flattering, puny thief, but I’m saving myself for my one and _only_ love, Blackhat.” She utters his name with something close to a moan and you grimace, pouting at the annoying nickname.

    “Hey, I have a _name_ , you know? Wait, _do_ you even know my name?” You ask, a bit dumbfounded, trying to remember, but Dementia waves you off with a snort.

    “Of course I know your name, silly. I just like to call you _puny_ thief. Or weakling. But maybe I should call you _horny_ thief now, too.”

An incredulous “Bitch!” escapes you before you can stop yourself but fortunately she’s already cackling again, so you’re good. It’s all good now. Well… except for that gnawing feeling of pity when you glance at the dark pit that is her holding cell and the torn pieces of straight-jacket. No wonder Dementia’s such a nutcase. She got locked up in here every day, with not even a bed to sleep in, pining for a heartless, soul-snatching demon, and you? You were given a giant ass room _just_ to sleep in, more than enough unwanted attention from said heartless, soul-snatching demon, and on top of that a luxurious bathroom with-

    “Hey, Dem?” You suddenly say, softer, and she immediately scrutinizes you in suspicion again, so you raise your hands defensively. “Do you… wanna come upstairs and take a bath? I think you’re gonna like it. But maybe you should put on some clothes first.”

 

-

 

You feel incredibly lousy when you open the bathroom door for Dementia and she looks around the vast room with wide eyes, like she’s never been in here or seen such a lavish bathroom to begin with. Which reminds you…

    “How long have you lived here, actually? Or, how did you get here in the first place and work for Blackhat?” you ask her, honestly interested. You know that Flug had come here by accident, more or less, but that’s already everything you know about him. But you know near to nothing about Dementia, if that is even her real name. Who was she before she got to work for the BHO? Or… had she been _created_? And what about 5.0.5? Flug treated him like his son, while Blackhat had called him a “failure", so-

    “I don't know how I got here, or when, but this is my home and I never want to leave now that Blackhat loves me.” Dementia interrupts your thoughts casually, checking the corners of the room on all fours, _sniffing_ the air. With the way her hood falls over her face and her hair covering most of her body, she really looks like a furry lizard. A furry, _feral_ lizard. You allow her to explore the room in peace and walk up to the tub to draw her the bath you promised, still wondering if she had always been this crazy or if something had happened to her in the process of being around Blackhat all this time. You just hope the same thing doesn’t happen to you now that you are working for him as well.

A movement next to your arm makes you look down. Dem is peering over the rim of the tub, her eyes narrowed at the water.

    “ _Flug_ tried to bathe me without sedatives. Once. And he had to stich his arm after that.” She hisses, casting you a very telling glare. But you grin back at her and jerk your head towards the sink.

    “I bet he didn’t have my secret _weapon_.” Before Dementia can actually take that as a threat, and decide whether to immediately fight you or just bolt, you walk over to the cupboard and take one of the black bath bombs out, picking it up with the very tips of your fingers. “Catch!”

She catches it easily, holds it up to her face to sniff cautiously, and the next thing you know is that your eardrums might have actually popped from the shrill squeal of delight she shrieks out. In a flurry of hectic motions she’s ripped the black parchment off and stares at the orb, caressing the red glitter streaking the pitch black surface of the bath bomb.

    “What… what _is_ that? Oh, who cares, it's perfect! I love it! Can I eat it?!” she whispers, enthralled, and you quickly shake your head.

    “Nonononono, don’t eat it! You toss it in the water and take a bath with it. It's a bath bomb.”

Dementia holds the bath bomb in her hands as if it were a baby bird, her eyes wide and round. You shuffle your feet on the floor, still feeling awful that she has obviously  never gotten to experience something as nice as a hot bath, regardless of the sinister motives behind the otherwise amazing bath additive.

    “You know, you can always come up here and take a bath if you want, I don't mind. And I- I don’t like the smell of those anyway, so, they're yours if you want them.”

Her head snaps around to you, giving you an expression as though _you_ were the insane one here.

    “How can you not _love_ it?! It smells like _him_!” For a second you fear she might actually take a bite out of the black orb but then she carefully puts it in the water and gasps out loud when it starts to sizzle and paint the inside of the tub black like the darkest of nights. You barely manage to dodge the spray of hot water when Dementia cannonballs into the tub, without bothering to take her clothes off first, setting the bathroom under water. But her absolute childlike happiness makes you smile. Even if it's because of Blackhat who will probably never feel anything even remotely related to affection for her in return.

Dementia spits out a mouthful of black water, giggling to herself, and curls up in the tub with a happy sigh. You crouch down beside the bathtub and watch her run her fingers slowly through the ink-like water, her yellow eyes dark in the shadow of her drenched lizard hood. She peeks up at you and smiles tipsily.

    “It's like he’s wrapped his strong, warm arms around me…” she whispers. Trying not to make a face at that, you stand up and point a thumb over your shoulder.

    “Stay as long as you want, I’ll be next door.” You turn around and grab the doorknob.

    “Hey.” The soft tone in her voice scares you worse than anything Blackhat has ever unleashed on you.

 _Oh, please don’t tell me she's gonna…_ you slowly turn back around, but Dementia is merely poking her head over the rim of the tub, gnawing on her lip.

    “Thanks, _______. You really are a weakling but… this _is_ nice.”

Now you smile, partly in relief.

    “Hey, no biggie, Dee. Flug already has nightmares about us teaming up. Sounds like a good idea, huh?”

Dementia grins widely at that and nods before sinking back into the tub, humming a flowing tune that sounds faintly familiar to you. Maybe it was from one of Windings' operas that he used to listen to in his lab… somehow the name _Carmen_ pops into your head but you shrug and leave the bathroom, closing the door all the way.

Back in your room, you frown at the light still coming in through the windows. It's way too early to sneak out undetected, and you don’t really feel like eating after bearing witness to Dementia wolfing down an entire hero, cape and all. Your gaze falls on the bed and then the nightstand where the heavy book of the Unnamable Horrors is still lying.

 Suddenly you remember something. You had actually seen this book before once, in Wingdings' lab! He had left it open on his desk, and you wonder why you hadn’t recognized it at first, but then again, _all_ your memories of Dings had been locked away by him until yesterday, and most likely the one about the book as well!

Excited about a new clue, you jump on the bed and grab the book, groaning once more at the unexpectedly heavy weight. How in the hell could a simple, old stack of dusty paper be so freakishly heavy?! Once you heaved it over, you fold it open and stop, hesitating. The entity whose page you’ve landed on this time (a fish-like creature named Dagon), is already disgusting enough to make you consider closing the book for good and shoving it under your bed to never look inside it again! And if you have to turn every page to find the one you vaguely remember, you’ll surely end up insane.

    “Come on, what was the title again?” you mutter, stabbing your temples with your fingers. _N… I think it started with… N…_ You flip the book over onto its cover and open it from the back, quickly flicking through the pages of the alphabetical index until you’re at N. Now you just need to slowly read through the list and hope that one of the titles will spark your memory. But you don’t even have to look for long: your eyes promptly dart down, to where N is replaced by O, and freeze. Goosebumps race over your arms in cold waves and you know that you found it without having to open the book at the page and check.

_Nyarlathotep._

There are two sets of page numbers, and you recognize the first one, as it had been the missing pages for the Crawling Chaos. Anxious, you thumb through the crackling edges of the book and navigate to the second set of pages listed under Nyarlathotep.

You open the book fully and gasp out loud when the hand drawn portrait jumps into your vision:

It's Blackhat.

There's no doubt, you recognize the sharp features of his face immediately even though he looks a lot more different than he does now. In the sketch, he's wearing a giant, black pharaoh’s-crown, complete with the beard-thingy you had seen them depicted with in some of the museums you had snuck into. His left eye is not visible here either, but instead of a monocle the author of the book had drawn him with a veil falling over that side.

Shaken to the core, you look at the title and the passages of text beneath it.

_Nyarlathotep – also known as the Crawling Chaos, the Black Pharaoh, the Dark Demon, the Floating Horror, the Dweller in Darkness…_

The list goes on and on for a while and every new name strikes a hidden chord inside you, pulls on strings that reverb only with fear and dread until you have to close the book with a slam and remember to _breathe_!

You found it. Whatever the mysterious author of the note in the library wanted their associates to find, you had figured it out. With these pages you would uncover Blackhat's true identity and maybe even his motives, but in any case it was important somehow, if not something you might use to your advantage. You’re still not sure how much weight the missing pages on the Crawling Chaos were carrying, but this is all you need for now. And now that you know Blackhat's real name, you can actually search his library for more information! It's a bit haughty that he would own books about himself, but really not that surprising, considering the countless ancient portraits of him, lining the walls of his mansion. Count the wrath to the vanity and Blackhat made a pretty good start of combining all deadly sins in his being.

It's decided; you’re going to read all about Nyarlathotep until you’re either insane or too grossed out to read any further, or until the sun has set and you can finally get the hell out of here. But first, you really had to get out of these goddamn clothes! So you jump off the bed and walk towards the wardrobe, already unbuttoning your shirt while your mind is still trying to piece it all together.

    “If his real name is Nyarlathotep, why doesn’t he just call himself that and goes with Blackhat instead?” you think out loud, putting the shirt onto an empty hanger and grabbing the hem of your sports bra, pulling it up halfway. “Yeah okay, I get why he wouldn't go by Crawling Chaos, but _Nyarlathotep_ isn’t actually that bad... and why had Wingdings been researching this book? Nyarlathotep," you repeat the name, trying to recall if Dings had ever talked about him before. "Nyarlathotep" It does sound somehow familiar the more you say it... "Nyarlathotep."

A loud whooshing sound like a fierce gust of wind echoes through your room as soon as the vile name has crossed your lips for the third time, and you wheel around in start. A huge column of red light is spinning behind you, a horrible tornado of whirling shadows and red glowing eyes and other terrible limbs you can't even comprehend, and then Blackhat emerges from it, without his black coat or gloves but instead wearing a more than baffled expression, staring at your face for a solid five seconds before the nasty grin splits his ashen features and reveals sharp teeth as per usual.

 _You’re_ still utterly stunned by his unsolicited entrance and only remember to yank your bra back over your breasts when his single pupil darts down from your face for the fraction of a second.

    “L- lord Blackhat!? I- um, I was just-" you stammer, panicking at the thought of him possibly realizing what you really had been up to with the book, but your boss merely chuckles menacingly and crosses his hands on his back to give you a probing glare, arching a thin eyebrow.

    “Well, well, well… it has been eons since someone dared to summon me like this… and with _that_ name to begin with. You work much faster than I would have given you credit for my dear, which can only mean…” he approaches you in one smooth, unnatural motion, his entirely horrible aura enough to force you to move back until your bare shoulder blades bump against the closet, and you raise your hands immediately in defense. Blackhat keeps his bloodshot eye trained on your face, his grin daring you to oppose him with a sarcastic comment or your usual spite, but by now you have tangoed with him enough times to know that this is serious! If he had only been annoyed or irritated by everything you did so far he is now mad with rage!

You realize that he hasn’t finished the sentence and lick your lips, lowering your hands and pressing them against the door behind you instead to be able to push yourself off of the wardrobe if you have to be fast. Yet that opportunity dies instantly when Blackhat appears right in front of you all of a sudden and slams _his_ hands up against the wood of the dresser to both sides of your head, and now he is too close for you to even hope to evade any attacks. He’s hell-bent on confronting you, leaving you no room to weasel your away out of it this time.

    “Which can only mean what?” you whisper, hoping that Dementia doesn’t decide she’s finished with her bath now of all times and catches you in this more than incriminating position, which is ridiculous, considering you could _actually_ be killed any second now! Blackhat pauses for a beat, staring you down with deeply furrowed brows, searching for something hidden in your expression that he appears to have been expecting but cannot seem to find now that he has you cornered.

    “That you must have had _help_. Or you _found_ something that pointed you in the direction of Lovecraft's almanac. I refuse to believe that you managed to figure all of this out by yourself!” He growls. One of his fingers, now a curled, sharp talon, scratches the door of the dresser in a strange rhythm that effectively chips away at both the wood and your mental strength. You attempt to swallow down the fear and almost choke when shadowy tendrils sneak up all around your body, ready to strike, to ensnare and strangle you most likely. Should you tell him about the note?! Would he know if you didn’t? What would he _do_ if you did? God, his teeth were way too close; the bite wound in your shoulder throbs in warning, reminding you of the pain of having your skin torn open by them.

    “I… I have _seen_ this book before.” You finally wheeze out, trying not to whimper when he leans even closer, his terrifying face now right before yours, your right eye – round and wide from fear, with unshed tears making it glisten – reflected in the monocle as if it was his own.

    "Where.” Once again, it's not a question but an order and you have to close your eyes now, clench them shut against the physical waves of malicious intent Blackhat radiates and that threaten to drive you insane. His finger is still drumming and scratching on the wood, the sounds drilling at your spinal cord…

    “Wingdings!” you hiss, barely audible, your voice on the verge of cracking now. “His lab- I didn’t know before I saw him again and got my- my memory of him back, and I- I only remembered it when I got back here and saw-" Your thoughts stop right then and there, your brain severing every connection it had with your body out of self-preservation, the second Blackhat's lips touch the delicate skin between your jaw and neck – the very, _very_ vulnerable skin that barely protects some of the most vital arteries inside you. _Too close, this is too close, this is-_

    “Go on.” He rumbles into your skin and your resolve breaks as if he had shot it from point blank range with a gun.

    “A note! I- I found a note! I- in the library- oh God, don’t bite, please don’t, _don't_ , I can’t-“

A single tear spills at his dark, triumphing chuckle that vibrates against your neck and you fight the helpless sob trying to force it’s way out your chest.

    “Now, now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Blackhat rasps in mock solace, his left hand abandoning its place on the door to pat your cheek, although to you it feels like he's just testing the skin to see how hard he has to slap you in order to break it, and sure enough, his next words betray the softness in his voice: “I should _mutilate_ you for conspiring against me, but I am much more impressed by your determination to keep your secrets, so I won’t be sending you to the dimension of eternal suffering for now… but I assume you have questions after your… investigative breakthrough?”

Your first instinct is to shake your head so that he will hopefully drop the subject and get the hell away from you. But you _do_ have questions. A ton of them to be precise. And if Blackhat is really offering to answer them right now…

    “Wh-" you start and feel his grin widening just a fraction next to your jaw, causing a new shiver of ice-cold fear to run down from the nape of your neck to the soles of your feet. He's just lying in wait, patient like an alligator in a swamp, for you to make the _mistake_ of asking no doubt! You even think you can hear a low rumbling coming from his chest. So he had only tried to trick you again. You swallow and take a deep, shaking breath. “Would you please let go of me now, boss? You’re giving me the creeps and I told you I wasn’t going to fall for any more of your _traps_.” Somebody should really applaud you for wheezing  _that_ out without stuttering or fainting! Maybe not the most epic choice for some last words but nobody would ever know about your pitiful end anyway.

Yet the unimaginable happens: Blackhat takes a step away from you, and suddenly the crushing force of deadly intentions, along with the tentacles, dissipates around you, allowing you to finally open your eyes and stop clawing at the wooden dresser. However, you’re still using up most of your strength to keep your knees from buckling beneath you and just collapse into a limp heap before him, so you’re not really out of the fray yet.

Your horrible employer nods at you, maybe not in respect, but definitely in wordless acknowledgement, before snapping his fingers and teleporting the heavy book into his hands, studying his own portrait with an unreadable expression.

   “A very accurate conglomeration of the Unspeakable Horrors, but personally I prefer the Necronomicon; the Arab that wrote it was much more _open_ to the dark arts than the good professor, who merely dares to quote passages from the Necronomicon itself and left out most of the forbidden rituals, as to not endanger humanity.”

      “Oh.” You just say, not really sure what the hell he's talking about. But you try to remember the name of that other book, the-

    “The Necronomicon is in my office, if you are really that interested in losing your sane mind, my dear. Just don’t go ahead and summon any _more_ Outer Gods with your thoughtless monologues. I’m afraid they wouldn't be all too happy to get called _here_ of all places… and neither would you, I assure you.” He chuckles to himself and you swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.

    “Ou- Outer Gods? Is that what you are, a god?”

Blackhat’s answer is a grin possibly even wider than any you have seen so far, and his features gleam red from beneath the shadow of his top hat, shone on by the dwindling light filtering through the colored windows. Without noticing it you press your back firmer against the wood again, fearing he might kill you now after all since you had dared to ask a question. Yet, to your endless relief, your boss shakes his head indulgently, the terrible grin softening into a lenient smirk.

    “ _God_ doesn’t quite begin to describe the true nature of my existence, but until now no mortal being has been able to comprehend, or even withstand the knowledge to invent a more appropriate term you humans could fathom. But, yes, let’s just leave it at that.” His eye traps your gaze again, looking ever furtive, and he cocks his head a little, no doubt gauging your reaction. But while that is a rather huge revelation, you find you’re not surprised at all. Considering what you had already seen him do, and most importantly the things you had _not_ seen, Blackhat being a god is the only reasonable explanation. If there even was something like reason when it came to him.

Suddenly you can’t help but shoot another nervous look towards the bathroom door, hoping Dementia had not heard anything of what was going on in here.

“You go on and on about how you won't fall for my traps anymore and yet you seem to have already forgotten that the bath bombs put whoever uses them to sleep… it really is two steps forward and one step _back_ with you.” Blackhat grouses and slams the book shut, making you flinch at the sound. With a casual flick of his hand he tosses the heavy tome back on the bed and walks over to one of the two big windows, where the sun is slowly setting in a fiery, red sky.

Now that you finally aren’t under his piercing glare anymore, you relax a little and glance at  the bed. You really have to sit down for a moment but you also still want to be up on your feet and able to move quickly…

    “But", you say, shrug, and sink down on the very edge of the mattress, one foot still on the floor, quickly slipping out of the high heels, “that means I’m going forward nonetheless.”

Blackhat's face in the reflection twists into a terrible grimace of torn skin, teeth and dead things around his rolled-back eye, his demonically amplified voice shaking the very room: “At a snail's pace you impertinent bag of flesh! Do you really think I have the _patience_ for a slow-learner?! I can’t have my business relying on _incompetent fools_! ** _Get over here_!**”

You are gotten over there by his unearthly powers before you can even think about jumping to your feet, the invisible force dragging you over the carpet until you’re standing right next to Blackhat, your bare shoulder touching the sleeve of his dress shirt. From the corner of your eye you can see that he's still doing creepy shit with his face, so you keep your own gaze on the view outside, noticing the skyline only with half of your mind. Through the newly rising veil of panic you wonder why he, a god, would bother with a physical form or with running a _business_ of all things, or why he could not read your mind whenever he wanted, but those are questions you don’t dare to ask aloud. A cold, leathery hand slithers over your back until it finds its place on the branding beneath your shoulder blade, the surfacing disgust making you wince.

    “I was going to talk to you before your little _stroll_ anyway, so let me give you a word of advice…” he says, now completely composed again. You wheel around to face him, already opening your mouth in denial, but Blackhat glances down to you with a knowing grin.

"Oh please. Did you really think I would not see right through your cute, little plan to get rid of Flug's tracker? You were so crude about it I had trouble keeping a straight face! I did not plant that device on you, and I don’t intend to lock you up in here, as I simply have no need to keep you under surveillance. I will always know where you are, where your _soul_ is.”

That confirms one of your suspicions! But how and why?! What was it that connected you to Blackhat, if not your thoughts? Your fear now completely gone, you turn around to him again and look him straight in the eye.

    “Is it because of the contract I signed? Because of the branding? Or because of what you did to my SOUL after Wingdings messed with it? Or just because you are, you know a _god_?!” you blurt out. Blackhat gazes down upon you, his mouth curling like he just stepped into something gross.

    “Awfully nosy, aren’t you? Oh well, I suppose that’s a thief for you:  _always_ sticking your nose into other people's business.” He huffs arrogantly and looks back out the window. So, he’s not going to actually spill some evil beans. _Figures_.

    “Hey I take great pride in that, thank you very much!” you bristle and cross your arms in front of your chest. Blackhat clucks his forked tongue with a heavy sigh, rolling his eye at the window.

    “I _know_ , to my utter disfavour. Here.”

Suddenly he pushes something into your hands and you almost drop the smooth, flat object before you catch yourself and take a look at it. It's a simple mask, white and shaped like an upside-down, round teardrop with a black stripe in a broad V in the middle.

“Do not let yourself get caught or do my Organization discredit in any other way, or you _will_ earn a trip to the aforementioned dimension of eternal suffering. You can ask Flug about its specific amenities, and what else I expect of you should someone see your face.” And without another word, he vanishes into the ground.

You stare at the mask in your hand, once again uprooted by Blackhat's horrible and mysterious ways. Then you flinch and spin around to the bathroom door, suddenly remembering that Dementia is currently passed out in a tub full of water.

    “Oh sh-, please don't tell me she drowned in there!”

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"Say it Thrice!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So your little secret wasn't a secret at all! Good old bosshat doesn't give a shit 😆 Told y'all! And just so you don't bust my kneecaps: the smut has been written, I repeat! There's going to be the nasty within the next five chapters so you better brace yourselves xD  
>  **Next update on the 13th of October!** or sooner if I can manage to sneak some writing in during work hours 😏


	22. Nightlife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating earlier because I been hella productive, fellow humans. Work is da poop! No more!

_That’s what you get for attempting to poison your employer with something as disgusting as arsenic! Not to mention the vile amount of sugar to hide it under! Now cyanide, oh he would have downed _that_ with  _gusto_ , and maybe even asked for seconds!_

 

### 22\. Nightlife

 

Luckily, Dementia had not drowned in her slumber while your boss was terrorizing you. She’s fast asleep, sure enough, curled up on her side the way you left her, snoring peacefully with the occasional garbled noise or clack of her teeth, as if she was snapping at something in her dreams. You’re still a little concerned about her drowning without any supervision, so you drain a bit of water from the tub, just so much that she can't possibly dunk her head under. Then you stare at her, honestly surprised that the bath bombs have any effect on her, and you wonder if Blackhat could actively control the duration of the paralysis, or if the sedation worked differently from one person to the other. If that's the case, you don’t really understand how the bombs could knock out Dementia in a matter of seconds, when you had clearly been able to withstand them for longer. She is obviously stronger than you, and besides that genetically modified at least, plus all that frequent sedating from Flug must have left her with a rather huge resistance against drugs, while you had never even smoked weed before. You were pretty used to alcohol, for various reasons, but you had never abused any other drug besides that.

 _Add it to the rest of the shit that doesn’t quite add up in here_ , you think and leave Dementia to her dreams, turning around to the sink and finally stripping off your sports bra to inspect the dressing of your cauterized bite-mark. The gauze is moist with liquid from the wound and you grimace at the soaked, smelly patch, tossing it into the trash can. While you redress the oozing burn, you briefly think about aborting the trip outside, but then you frown and shake your head. No, you _have_ to get out and clear your mind! Being stuck in this hellish mansion for that long had almost made you mad on one too many occasions as that you could stand it any longer.

You need to smell the crisp night air, feel the freezing winds on the rooftops nipping at your unprotected skin, and see the open sky _above_ you, the stars on a moonless night being the only witnesses to your crimes. Yeah, no matter how bruised up you were when you still rolled with the gang, you had always found the energy to sneak out and jump from roof to roof, sneak into other people’s homes and take what wasn’t yours. On some nights you were already content with just watching the nightlife down in the alleys and dark streets, learning, simply by observing and picking up secrets and gossip, or by hiding in the library and reading book after book to satiate your hunger for knowledge.

Lost in your thoughts like that, you move faster than you realize. In a wink the wound is patched up again and you’re back in your room, rubbing ashes and soot from the fireplace over your face to hide it in the darkness. Then you remember the mask Blackhat had given you and that you had thrown onto the bed, but when you turn around, there’s suddenly more stuff lying on the blankets that wasn’t there before…

    “Oh God,” you groan, “please don’t tell me it’s another _outfit_ -“

Of course it is. Albeit not what you had expected, and your jaw drops in surprise when you recognize the shirt you had arrived in, your leggings and your leather jacket, all looking cleaned and even ironed! “Holy shit…” you mumble, astonished. “Uh… thanks, boss?” When you pick up the shirt, you reveal something underneath it and drop the shirt immediately, your eyes wide as if you had seen a ghost. And in a way you have. Before you lies an intricate contraption of black belts, leather straps and small bags, hand-sewn and supple from years of wear, with loops for throwing knives, rope and other gear. An elaborate piece of patchwork artisan craft, and entirely DIY as Flug would probably put it. It’s your missing gear belt. _Where in the world did he find that_?!

You shake your head and almost fall on your face, trying to get out of the tights and the skirt as fast as you can to put on your leggings and pull the straps over them. The way it fits so snugly on your form, it can only be _your_ gear belt. Your hands fly over the different loops and satchels, locating some of your old knives, a bag of lock picks and, most importantly, your grappling hook! A relieved sigh escapes you, unbidden, and you caress the worn steel of the big, tempered gaff that’s pressing so familiarly into your right thigh. Shit, you almost feel like crying.

    “Hell yeah…” you whisper. At least now, with your climbing hook, you won’t need to rely on your arms as much as you had already feared. The bite mark is in a very inconvenient spot to climb a lot with it.

Blackhat would probably kill you for thanking him, but you are beyond grateful right now. He had returned a part of you on his own accord that had been missing, and without which you had felt incredibly useless and vulnerable. You really want to know where he had gotten it from, or how, but that’s secondary now. _Now_ you want to wait for night to fall over Hatsville and then get out there and harass some of her unsuspecting inhabitants. Although, it may actually turn out to become a challenge; with _Blackhat_ living among them, the people of Hatsville might be expecting anything at any time!  

    “All the more fun then. I like a good challenge.” You say to yourself, smiling, and finally pick up the strange mask to inspect it. It actually doesn't look like much, and you had never used a mask to cover your entire face before, but since it’s a gift from Lord Blackhat it _has_ to have some sort of unusual properties, right?

 _Or it might kill me if I use it wrongly._ An inner voice cautions you out of the blue and you hesitate, carefully turning the mask around this way and that, looking it over as closely as you can. There really is nothing to it, it's just a plain, thin mask made from a material like plastic or fiberglass. You don’t even see any way to fasten it to your head, to be honest! Okay, so that _is_ definitely weird.

 _Let’s just see what it looks like,_ you decide and open the wardrobe door with the mirror on the inside. When you hold the mask against your face, you notice that the black visor is perfectly see-through, while being completely opaque from the other side, hiding your eyes. You look like a Powerranger. But you can’t let go off it or it's going to fall down!

    “What the hell… this is useless!” you grouse in disbelief. Why would your eldritch, omniscient, godlike boss give you this if it was so utterly impractical to you!? Well, good thing you already smudged your face with coal then. Shrugging, you toss the mask back on the bed and finally put on your shirt and leather jacket, humming in satisfaction when the supple, worn material glides over your arms like a second skin. When you turn back around to the mirror, you can’t help but grin widely at your reflection that you had only ever seen in the glassed fronts of skyscrapers and store windows before, yet it is unmistakably _you_. You would even recognize the silhouette if someone drew it on a piece of paper. Just…

You flip the dark grey hood of your jacket over your head and your grin gets a tad darker, meaner. Yeah. _There she is. Ghost herself._ But you can imagine how much more awesome you would look with the mask on, and you really want to see it now. So you pick it back up to hold it before your face, and it flies out of your hand when you get it close to your skin, attaching itself to your hood and head as if you were made of metal and the mask was a fridge magnet!

For a second you panic and yank the mask back down, afraid it might be stuck to you forever now, but it comes off easily and your skin stays intact as well. Catching your breath, you allow it to stick itself back on your face, peering through the visor. The white mask sticks out harshly from your otherwise black frame, and you’re not really sure if this is going to work with hiding in the dark, but the second you think about it, the mask turns pitch-black and now you look like a solid shadow.

    “Holy shit…” you breathe out, amazed. Curious, you flip your hood back, expecting the mask to fall off your face. But you're surprised yet again: the mask _vanishes_ inside the hood when you pull it off and your eyes widen in shock. Oh no, had you broken it?! Quickly, you flip the hood back in place and the mask wraps itself over your face again. “Oooh my God this is so fucking cool?!”

    “What is?” Dementia asks from the bathroom door, sounding incredibly sleepy and you tear the hood from your head immediately, whirling around to her.

    “Dem! You’re- um, done already?” your voice sounds way too high pitched and she scrutinizes you, her grogginess instantly forgotten.

    “Uh, _duh_? I was getting wrinkly! And you look incredibly _caught_. And what's with your face? Looks like you could use a bath, too.” She retorts, propping her fists on her hips. Her clothes are still wet, dripping all over your bedroom floor, as is her hair. You shake your head; you feel way too happy with your old gear and the fantastic addition to it as that you would start a fight now.

    “I'm working on my work attire, the coal is for camouflage.” You smirk and gesture down your form. “Also I asked Flug for some gear that was like my old one, and he dropped it off a while ago. You fell asleep in the bath by the way and I didn’t feel like waking you. Sorry for letting you shrivel up like that. Ya _raisin_.”

Fortunately Dementia does not share Blackhat's eerie ability to sniff out lies and she snorts at the jab.

    “Raisin? Wow, your insults are lame.” She cackles loudly and wrings her hair out, _flooding_ the carpet. You throw your arms up in the air, scandalized but unable to really stop her.

    “Ugh, come on, Dem, seriously?! Couldn't you have done that in the tub? If I’m getting mold in here I’ll make you eat it!” you complain but she just keeps laughing and bumps your shoulder with a fist on her way out. Unnecessarily hard.

    “Hah! That one was better! I’ll go finish my movie-marathon. You wanna come, too?” The invitation is genuine and you blink, surprised. But then you remind yourself that you have to read more about Blackhat's true identity and when you’re with Dementia the entire night, you probably won’t get a chance to do that or sneak out.

    “Nah, I’m pretty beat. I had to play servant for a bunch of villains the whole day! But knock yourself out, Dee. Oh and if you’re looking for your… um… _hand puppet_ , I put it in a drawer under the TV.”

Now it's Dementia's turn to blink at you in bafflement.

    “Huh, so you really don’t have a crush on Blackhat? Anyone else would have kept that puppet for herself…” then her grin returns and she shrugs. “Alright, you really need that beauty sleep, so get as much as you can. Bye, ______!”

You wave as she leaves and exhale when the door finally closes behind Dementia.

    “I just hope the boss doesn't get the bright idea to blackmail me with that kiss in his office…” you mutter with a shudder and quickly lock the door, your fingers lingering on the cold brass knob. You should probably take some of the medical gloves along to not leave any fingerprints.

Nodding at that brilliant idea, you walk back to the bed, making a mental note to dedicate this first excursion to exploring the city and looking for places where you could get back the rest of your tools and gear.

    “Most important would be a phone, a watch and a flashlight, maybe even a pair of leather gloves-" you fall silent in your mumbling when you look at the blanket. The heavy book left a visible indentation on it, but the tome itself is gone. “… oh come on, seriously?!” You groan and flip off the darkness around you. Typical! This had been going way too smooth for your liking anyway! “Yeah, yeah, I get it, BH. You win some, you lose some.” But the reason Blackhat took the book away from you can only be that he doesn’t actually want you to investigate his true nature and, no doubt, the connection to Azathoth that Wingdings had hinted at in the book, any further. Which means that there has to be _something_ about that knowledge that would make him vulnerable. If he didn’t care about it, he would have let you go insane by reading more about him for all he cared. Following your suspicion, you stick your fingers into the hidden pocket beneath the actual chest pocket of your jacket. The mysterious note with the secret code is gone.

     “Looks like someone got spooked by a little kitty-cat.” You say to yourself, grinning crookedly. There's no doubt that you won’t actually find the Necronomicon in Blackhat's office now.

_Whatever. Let him keep his secrets. I don’t care._

 

-

 

The mansion is dark and eerily quiet when you finally sneak out of your room and look along the hallway of the third floor. Not a soul, or soul-snatching entity present, not even a hatbotler. Still, you take an extra minute to strain your ears in the darkness and listen in to the silence before you vault over the handrail and catch your fall on the landing beneath you. Hanging from your left hand, you pull yourself up for a second to peek along the dark hall that leads towards Blackhat's office. The silence seems even deeper here and you quickly drop down two more ledges until you’re on the ground floor.

At first you had planned to get out through one of your windows, but upon further consideration you decided to change plans. Even though the tracker was secured under your pillow to make it look like you were sleeping, there was still the possibility that most of the windows of the manor were hooked up to the internal security system and would trigger an alarm if you opened them. Except for the one in the kitchen, the one that was hopefully still left with the piece of tape you had put over the lock during your first escapade. Flug might be an evil scientist but he loved 5.0.5 with every fiber, and you counted on that love to work in your favour and the kitchen window to not be armed in order to let 5.0.5 open it whenever he wanted to cool off a freshly backed pie.

On your way to the kitchen you freeze, pressing your body into the shadow of a column when a loud noise echoes through the hall. But then you pick up Dementia's high-pitched laughter and relax a little. Right, she was having her movie-night a few yards down the curving hallway. You use the volume of the TV to quickly open and close the door to the kitchen, dropping into a crouch to hide from anyone behind the counter. Yet, as you had hoped, the room is dark and empty, the movie noises muffled. Again you listen in for anything out of the ordinary, until the rumbling from the fridge becomes too loud to bear and you sneak towards the window, crossing your fingers and sending a silent prayer to the greater forces of the universe to please not be a dick for once! The same goes for Blackhat, of course.

The window looks closed, but when you give it a tentative pull it slides open without any resistance. The tape had done its job once more! And, as you had suspected, no cables, optical barriers, or other sensors that connect it to an alarm system. With that weight off your chest, you relax a lot more and turn away towards the abandoned kitchen, your fingers drumming undecidedly against your thigh. When you spot the cold rest of brewed coffee in the pot, you make the decision to fuel up before the trip, downing the coffee in one big gulp straight from the pitcher and foraging the fridge for a quick bite.

While you munch on leftover pie and sandwiches, you immediately try to imagine what to expect from the heist with Void the next day. Stealing the artifact would probably be a whole lot easier without having a villain with super powers wreaking havoc outside, but he had told you that it would be much harder for him to help you if you got caught inside the museum. His attack was merely supposed to act as bait for the security forces and to cut the power supply so you could steal the artifact unnoticed without having to worry about triggering any alarms.

    “He’s actually not that stupid…” you muse, licking your fingers clean and moaning at the taste of caramel from the pie. You can’t remember that you had ever tasted food this good in your life before, and on top of all on a daily basis. If you didn’t watch out you could easily gain a few pounds too many!

Just like a few days ago you jump out the window and use the shadow of the wall/hat brim above to survey the area around you, but this time you sneak around the back of the mansion to the other side. You still have the map the old kiosk vendor showed you memorized, and the first store on your mental list is in that direction. The street around Blackhat's lair is completely dark, not one of the lights seems to work, which does not surprise you at all. A howling wind whirls up dead leaves and you cower down for a second, every muscle in your body tensed. But the creepy gust settles down again and no other sound disturbs the nightly silence.

With one hand you flip up your hood, the mask immediately wrapping over your face. The street into the depths of Hatsville looks deserted, sure enough, and there is not a single light in any of the houses around. It does strike you as odd, but then again it could always be the case that none of those houses were actually inhabited. Besides, you would never hunt so close to your base anyway, especially not when it was so exposed and without a concealed route to get back in. Blackhat had specifically told you not to get caught or do his organization _discredit_ in any other way. So, he probably would not be happy about people knocking on his door, asking if he knew anything about a certain, masked thief.

No, you had to choose a territory that was far enough away to exclude the mansion from any initial search-radar. This would make coming back here a total pain in your ass, especially if you were loaded with loot, but considering any other possible outcomes, this was the least risky approach.

Silent as an owl you dash across the dead lawn and vault over the spiked fence, your movements a little less fluent than you would have liked them to be, but considering the time you had spent cooped up in the mansion, not exactly surprising. This would be the perfect workout-run before the heist!

You cross the street, your right hand freeing the gaff from its carabiner with dreamlike confidence and whirling it in a wide arch. It flies over the top of the nearest house, where it wraps itself around the chimney, and you use your momentum and speed to swing up onto the roof, balancing your landing with your outstretched arm. The wound in your shoulder protests dully but it's not too bad. Jumping to your feet, you reel the gaff back in and prop your hands on your hips, smelling the cold night air. Hatsville central looks deceivingly calm in the dark, but your heightened senses quickly pick up the faint noises of sirens, shouts and even a few muffled shots from even farther away. Suddenly it doesn’t even seem all that different from South City.

An unexpected shiver takes a hold of you and you immediately turn around, crouching slightly on the steep roof to not lose your balance. The hat manor looks like a black monster cowering on a hill, the crimson windows gleaming like eyes without any obvious light source. From this angle you can see the side of the big, oval frame that marks Blackhat's office, but your gaze quickly darts up to an oriel with three arching windows you haven’t seen until now. For a second you're stunned in confusion. Which room was up there again?

    “No… wait, have I _been_ up there? There's the attic… there's the third floor…” No, as far as you know, this room with the three windows doesn't exist, and you’re dead sure you had been to every single room on your task-marathon. Suddenly something moves behind the window and a dark silhouette blocks out the light. That dark shadow is so unmistakably Blackhat that you barely resist the urge to throw yourself behind the chimney and hide.

 _It's cool, ______, relax!_ You tell yourself, clenching your hands into fists to keep it together. You know he's watching you, his gaze almost palpable. So _this_ has to be his room and not the office like you thought. Why would Blackhat need a second private room if he didn’t sleep, though? Was there a way to get in? A hidden passage maybe? Did Flug or Dementia know how to get there? Had he taken the books up there?

Trying to curb your curiosity, you turn away and jump to the next roof, ignoring the sensation of a single eye piercing your back. The branding under your shirt flares for a second, but the pain is gone just as quickly, and with it the feeling of being watched.

 _Probably his way of telling me to not get into any trouble and to be careful,_ you think and snort with a wide grin. _Yeah, right!_

 

-

 

Blackhat would never admit it, not even to himself, but you managed to astonish him. By accident, of course, but _you_ out of all people had unveiled the connection he had furiously been trying to find himself for years now! He looks down on the crumpled piece of paper he took from you, on the terribly crooked handwriting he knows all too well.

_I have figured it out! I know the truth about the one they call Black Hat, about the Crawling Chaos himself!_

_C.5-S.2-B.15_

    “Did you now, you spineless traitor? If I hadn't already swallowed your pathetic soul I would reanimate your cowardly corpse to slowly push you into the Black Hat Organization Destructor X blender _myself_!” He crushes the note, rips it apart and burns it until not a single atom is left of it. But it is still only a measly surrogate for the one he would prefer to tear into shreds! Unfortunately, his former scientific engineer had met his untimely demise by Blackhat's own hand, or rather… barf, almost a decade ago, when Flug was still studying for his degrees in the BHO academy.

He remembers the incident with a certain mirth; after all, it had been very amusing to watch the good professor get dissolved by an eldritch mouth full of acid. That’s what you get for attempting to poison your employer with something as disgusting as arsenic! Not to mention the vile amount of sugar to hide it under! No wonder he had immediately thrown it all up and right into the perpetrator's face. Now cyanide, oh he would have downed _that_ with _gusto_ , and maybe even asked for seconds before strangling the poor sod with his own intestines. And his name- and faceless accomplice as well!

Blackhat turns to his desk next to the windows where the tome of Lovecraft is opened at the chapter about the Crawling Chaos, or rather where it _should_ be. Someone had dared to cut the pages out with a scalpel, and the fact that this had happened right under his nose is probably a worse insult than the mutilation of the book itself, or the motive behind it. He had suspected that the professor was conspiring against him, and that the poison-incident wasn’t merely the meltdown of a human mind under his employment, but rather an actual attempt to take him out, albeit a very stupid attempt if he’d ever seen one. But he had never found any evidence for it, and Flug had failed to discover anything of use in his predecessor's notes as well.

But you? Through whatever twisted luck or fate you had stumbled upon the very piece he had been missing. That his former engineer had an accomplice, and that their goal was to uncover the very nature of his, Blackhat's, existence. And apparently you were trying the same now, spurred by that damned nosiness of a thief and con-artist. Yet as much as he exults at the idea of your mind unravelling from the scope of the sheer, horrible nature that is his origin, he can’t allow you to delve deeper into the Necronomicon’s forbidden knowledge. It would make you a liability, a weak spot, and a possible target for the allegiances that were trying to hamper his organization in every way. Well, you were a target already, simply because you worked for him, but it would make you a _worthwhile_ target. In regard of his true nature, you already knew more than Flug!

Blackhat freezes when his senses notice movement outside. A dark, hooded figure swings elegantly onto one of the dummy-houses that surround his manor, lithely landing on the ridge of the roof. He can’t lie about it, you make a much better figure in your element than he would have thought, even though the bite must still hurt under that sloppy patchwork of yours. A shame he had bitten so deeply right away, it would have been much more riveting to watch you terribly mutilating yourself in order to get the tracker out, but he simply had not been able to hold himself back at the sight and smell of your sweet, vulnerable flesh. And while he knew you had thought you were playing him to get what you wanted, he had still enjoyed himself immensely, if anything because of the amount of self-loathing and shame you must have felt, having to go against one of your principles and offer him your own body just to get a little freedom to move around, when in reality he did not care at all where the hell you were scurrying about on the island.

His grin is wide, the anger from before forgotten. Your fear when he confronted you about his real name had been genuine and bordering on mortal; you had known instinctively that you were in real danger then, another surprise to him since he had not expected you to actually still have that sensibility, being already used to all kinds of punishment and what not. He thinks back to the night you had appeared in the manor, your gall even though you knew who you were dealing with and that persisted even after he showed you some of the horrors he was capable of. It had been a gamble to sign you on, buying a pig in a poke, an impulsive decision, based solely on the strange circumstances of your appearance at his proverbial doorstep and that unbelievably enticing soul, that rare treasure he had never encountered in such form before and that he wanted to devour so badly now.

Training you to contribute to his profit was _work_. It demanded an effort from him he had not been forced to make in a long time. Integrating Flug into his organization had been _easy_. The man was, and would always be, scared out of his mind when it came to Blackhat, but he was just as devoted as he was scared. Blackhat owned his true identity, owned and protected it so that Flug could eventually fulfill his purpose, his lifelong dream. But he would never be free.

Dementia? Please! The hazard she posed to his other assets was easily outweighed by the heroes she had already slain and the outstanding chaos she left in her wake. Her raw strength, compulsive loyalty, and obsessive lust for his person made her the perfect bodyguard. Not that he really needed one, but brawn was just as important as brains in his line of business. She had also stolen a few very important items and trinkets for him occasionally, but you could not leave her to her own devices. She was the ultimate henchman, but not the ultimate villain, never would be, which was, also, Flug's fault.

You however…

Blackhat watches you leave, jumping across more roofs until you’re out of sight. Well, _human_ sight. His other senses, those for which humankind does not even have a concept, let alone names, are very much aware of where you are in relation to him. For a second he plays with the thought of following you, of stretching huge wings that he hasn’t used in a long while but, alas, there is work to be done in the name of evil. Plus, he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving the mansion… as much as he hates to say it: that infuriating intruder is _still_ trying to wiggle through his layers of defense! It's like he can hear his manic cackle trickling through invisible cracks in the wall!

Which is exactly why Blackhat, Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos, the Black Pharaoh, or whatever they called him, needs to work overtime tonight. At least it's not going to get _boring_ any time soon, and his grin turns a tad sharper. That's what he loves about _this_ reality. It is never. Ever. Boring.

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"MASK!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Yall better be gratefull that mask didn't straight up turn you into Jason Voorhees xD I do hope we get to know more about Dementia's origin story soon, I'm just making my own shit up at this point lmao, but I hope you like the shit I make up ♥ smells like Lovecraft. 
> 
> Next update is still gonna drop on Sunday 13th, so yay double update! See you!


	23. Beautiful Crime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is looong yo xD

_Now it’s time for more elaborate diversions. Like the noisemaker you crafted, and that’s waiting at the other side for the timer to go off. Electronics stores turn out to be the best place to loot yet again!_

 

### 23. Beautiful Crime

 

 

It seems almost like fate that one of the gargoyles is partially broken off from the roof of the church, so that your silhouette doesn't stick out unusually against the night sky as you crouch down behind it and peer into the plaza below, eyeing your target. The jeweler has even heavier roller shutters than the electronics store you just relieved of a few choice items, but the effect is the same as if the owner had hung up a huge sign that said “Hey, I’m stinking rich and I can afford top security, come get it!”. It was _basically_ an invitation to you to come get it. You’re still grinning, and at this point it’s ridiculous and actually starting to hurt your jaw. But this night couldn’t have started any better, and now it would end in one giant bang! And not even His Lordship would possibly be able to badmouth your performance this time!

    “Oh yeah...” You do a little head-jiggle and slink back into the shadow of the clocktower, your heart pounding in excitement. Getting in and out of the run down electronics store had been easier than you initially anticipated, the store clerk’s bad habit of smoking with an opened bathroom-window the point of entry you needed. And with an improvised thin steel-hook from the trash container nearby, you had cracked that compromised window in a matter of seconds.

Inside, you had at first been disappointed to see the store almost completely empty, your night vision picking up on the giant clearance sale signs all around. But after a closer inspection, you had actually found more than you had hoped for: clamshell phones, much more efficient than traceable smart phones and moreover still able to be used for all kinds of gadgets and hacking devices without running the risk of getting picked up by network scanners due to the lack of GPS, a tactical watch, a bunch of flashlights and batteries, a pair of cable cutters, copper wire and basic transistors from radios to maybe even forge a simple jammer that could manipulate electronic locks, and a laptop bag to carry all that loot and then some.

With your eyes so well adapted to darkness, you were able to work without any light and not get spotted by the ridiculously backward cameras in two corners of the store. Before you left you had also broken in to the manager’s office, just for good measures, where you found an ancient safe underneath the sagged desk, with two thousand regular dollars inside, virtually not any different from those in your world. You should probably feel bad for robbing someone who was obviously already struggling with his business. But you never had before and now really wasn’t the time to suddenly change your ways. If anything, you had to be especially ruthless now, all odds considered. 

The toy night-vision-goggles you took from the store turn out to be the real MVP on this first heist, though. The night vision function isn’t even half bad and the distance of the binoculars themselves it also acceptable, enabling you to examine the jeweler's outside a bit closer. The point of entrance is obvious: an air ventilation shaft on the flat roof. It's possible that this one is hooked up to an alarm, so you shouldn't just head-dive into it straight away. An alternative could always be an overhead window to the back or even a cellar-hatch. And if neither of those turn out to be a safe option with your current, measly loadout, you can always just head back to base and try another time with better gear. Better safe than sorry, especially when you're going to get double-punished if you’re caught, triple, if Blackhat would let Flug have a go at you as well for breaking house arrest. And from the graffiti you saw all around, police forces don’t exactly seem to be friendly around these parts. Not a surprise, really.

    “Alright, enough dilly-dallying. Let's see if those fancy gates are merely the tip of the iceberg, or just a flashy scare-tactic.” You mumble, strapping the laptop bag tightly across your torso and flipping your hood back over your head, immediately relaxing when the white mask materializes from its depths to hide your face. The bite wound in your shoulder stings a lot sharper when you rappel down from the church's roof, reminding you quite nonchalantly that you are, in fact, _not_ really in any condition to overly exert yourself before the actual, _important_ heist that would define your future. But you don’t want to go home yet, not without at least checking out what you’re going to have to deal with eventually, because there’s no way you’re _not_ going to rob this place.

Taking the smart approach, you make a huge arch around the target before actually crossing the street, dashing from one dark alley into the next, always checking both ways and back before changing your position, executing your usual stake-out routine even stricter now since you’re in an unknown territory with unknown threats and, reminding yourself of Blackhat, unknown _rogue_ elements of questionable alignment! Luckily though, the jeweler has two neighboring buildings right next to it, separated only by a narrow passage to the joint backyard, which will grant you a much easier access route than an isolated building would have. This way, you can safely scale the back of the adjacent convenience store (making a mental note to ransack this place as well some other time for some everyday goodies), and creep up on your prey on your belly, silently sneaking over the flat roof. The moon is only a slim sickle, yet the ambient light from the street and the town itself illuminate your surroundings sufficiently to observe the roof in front of you as you peek over the low wall circling the building you’re currently on.

First thing you notice: no guards patrolling the roof, at least not yet. Might well be that there’s actually one or two inside, planning to head out to check the perimeter later. Second, what you had already seen through the toy binoculars: security cameras on every corner of the jeweler’s store, an extra one overlooking the length of the alley leading to the backyard. So the shutters probably weren’t in front of the windows just to initially scare of any lowlife criminal from taking a crack at this place.

Despite the security measures, you smirk. There’s _always_ a blind spot when it comes to cameras… and it’s almost always _above_ them. You jump to your feet without a sound, wincing slightly at the jolt of pain shooting through your body in various places, all the injuries you sustained over these past few days greeting you individually, but you roll your shoulders in a stubborn display, scrunching up your face under the mask when the spot in your shoulder responds even worse to that. _Idiot!_ you scold yourself and zip down your jacket a few inches to take out the binoculars that are dangling around your neck on a kid-sized thread, struggling for a hot second to actually get them in front of your eyes without taking the mask off completely.

But there’s no security camera installed on the roof, as you hoped. So no burglar around here had ever attempted a robbery of this place from above then. You snicker and stuff the spy glasses back under your jacket, zipping it up to your neck.

    “Welp, don’t expect me to go easy on you just because it’s your first time!” Yet the dirty pun loses it’s humor when Dark Phantom’s ugly laugh resurfaces in your mind and you make a face under your mask. Great, dirty jokes were ruined for you _forever_ now! _Guess it’s back to knock-knock jokes for me. The humanity!_

    “Okay stop it! Focus!” you chide and take a few steps back for a running start, flipping the laptop bag over your shoulder (ouch!) so it’s in front of you. A last estimation of the distance, and then your tabi-shoes carry you over the roof at top speed, aiming for the low wall. After a horrifying millisecond of doubt, you actually manage to place your leading foot on it and push off the ledge. Then the addicting moment of being airborne, your arms spread like wings, feet drawn to your body, already going over into the next motion without a hitch, your grin wide under the mask, trying to keep in your shout of joy. The roof comes flying at you and your toes touch it for the split of a second before you already use the energy of the impact against it, curling in on yourself to roll over your shoulder (double ouch!!) and your back, pressing the bag to your chest to not crush your valuable loot.

Smooth as a cat, you finish the roll and come back up to your feet without having to expend any energy, simply using momentum and physics right. Immediately you flip the bag back around and dart into the shadow of the ventilation tower, not stopping in your movements until you’re in cover, straining your ears against the blood rushing through them.

Everything stays silent, not even a nightly critter makes a noise, the relief quickly lowering your pulse. Still, you lean over and peek around the aluminum shaft you’re leaning against, double-checking for cameras or other security measures you might have overlooked. Alright, this route seems like a good approach already, even in the event of having to retreat for now and come back later. At last, some actual luck for good ol’ _______! Now all you need is some more to get a fat stack of diamonds and/or money to bring back to your horrid employer and prove your worth!

Suddenly you stop and take a step back from yourself. Are you actually _excited_ about working for Blackhat? This trip was supposed to clear your head, especially of all _his_ horrors, and not to be dedicated to fucking appease the bastard! Were you actually okay with accepting your fate and staying under his heel until the day you died or until he grew bored of you and just decided to take your SOUL?! Fuck no! Your endgame, before ending up in this bitch of a situation, had been to become your _own_ boss, to _be_ the one who called the shots and not to stumble from one sadistic boss straight to the next!

You grind your teeth, your right fist balling around the handle of the gaff. This was _your_ accomplishment, not a job, not a mission, it was _your_ fucking show, and all the rewards were _yours_ , too! So you had debts to pay? Oh please, a single flawless stone, even just a VVS1* diamond of just one carat would be enough to pay for the window you - or Gaster, to be precise – had smashed, for the clothes you – Blackhat mostly – had ruined, and the time you spent being his _guest_! With the rest, you could do as you pleased and maybe even buy a few of Flug’s gadgets with the Hatcoins Dark Phantom had slipped into your cleavage!

With a deep breath you try to strangle your rising anger before it can spiral out of control and make you lose focus. You would deal with this later. Now, you were on a roof, about to break into a probably highly secured jewelry store, and not at all sufficiently equipped for it. You would have to rely on your physical skills and your smarts, and in order for those to work flawlessly, you had to calm. _down_.

You force yourself to take your time, breathing slowly, banishing all thoughts about anything other than the target -  the heist -  out of your mind until it is empty and focused only on what matters: get the loot. Get in and get out. Locate the alarms. Use your environment. Make no noise. Don’t react rashly… Fuck Blackhat and his stupid organization.

    “You fail, you fly.” The phrase comes over your lips in a hushed whisper without really realizing it, the very words that have haunted you all your life and yet spurred you on to get back up even though it hurt all over, to refuse to surrender even though you didn’t really see why, to _survive_ and to see the sun rise again, because it meant you were spiting the universe itself simply by existing. And without fail, your legs move on their own to get you up, turn around and get to work on the ventilation shaft. The screws are easily undone with one of your knives, even though a multi-tool would be much nicer to have for this, _adding it to the list_ , and the lateral maintenance hatch is opened in a minute. The corners look clean, no cables or LEDs indicating optical barriers. The dark shaft is as narrow as it gets but no actual obstacle for you since you’re flexible enough to squeeze through basically anything and dislocate a few joints to _make_ it fit. Nothing you’ve never done before.

You crawl feet first into the hole, the soles of your toed shoes rubbery enough to support your weight even against smooth metal and you slowly make your way down until you reach the bottom, feeling around with one foot to determine the direction of the horizontal junction beneath you. After you briefly walked through the motions in your head, you untangle yourself from the laptop bag and gently lower it to the ground before you bend over, wedging your head and shoulders between the wall and your legs, twisting your feet around and back until your shins slip away against the metal and then you have room to flip over, suddenly upside down in the duct. You press your drawn up knees into one wall, your back into the other, and slowly control your descend with the pressure, planting your hands on the metal below once you’re in reach to crawl into the horizontal vent, casually slipping your head and one arm through the strap of the laptop bag on the way. The night-vision-toy once more proves invaluable to you, lighting up the pitch-black tunnel just enough to make out your own hand before you.

You take your time, to look for optical barriers and other sensors, and to make as little noise as possible, using only your hands and the toes of your shoes to pull you forward. You might be slow as fuck this way, but with the rough size of the building in your mind, you probably won’t have to crawl far, and just when your arms are starting to get tired from alternating between pulling your entire weight and holding the binoculars up, your vision suddenly lights up, the faint outlines of a ventilation grid beckoning just a few feet in front of you. And then you see the dim, red flash of an alarm system right next to it.

 _Crap!_ You think, frowning. That is actually not a bad spot to install a sensor, at least for the owner of this fine establishment. For you, it means extra hours and a lot of problem solving. Theoretically, you _could_ kick out one of the plates that make up the tunnel itself and get out smash-and-bash-style, but you still don’t know if there’s actually a laser grid waiting below you or not. Or guards. Or a rabid dog! No, you’ll have to disable the optical barrier or get around it through another, unsecured vent, although that possibility is already unlikely in theory.

Time to find out if the stuff you looted is worth more than what it was priced at! But first, you have to evaluate what type of alarm system you are actually dealing with here. So you crawl forward, now making sure you’re staying as far away from the wall with the vent as you physically can in this cramped space, eventually turning onto your side to get some room and also a better angle to work from. By now you're drenched in sweat beneath your leather jacket, your hands slippery inside the rubber gloves, yet you wear a grim, determined smile, your brain reveling in the comfortable familiarity of doing what you love. You had opted not to get out a flashlight before entering the horizontal shaft, its bright ray too dangerous should a guard actually be down in the store, making things even harder for you, but that was one of the challenges that made your work so rewarding. Overcoming more, and more elaborate defenses, every heist having different obstacles than the one before.

You’re finally at the vent and push your hood back so that the stiff mask doesn’t impair your movements any longer. The binoculars reveal an inconspicuous little apparatus at the bottom of the vent, hooked up to a control system outside through a cable that's running down the length of the tunnel, away from you. Its counterpart, the receiver of the optical barrier, is bolted in place at the other end of the vent opening, acting as a simple mirror to reflect the laser back into the first compartment, where it's picked up by a sensor. Anything disrupting this simple but ingenious setup would inevitably trigger a silent alarm, alerting the guards on site, as well as an external security company or even the police.

You wipe your clammy brow on your arm, a plan already forming the longer you examine the system and break its function down to the bare mechanics. There's no way, at least not like this and with what little time you have, to calculate the exact angle the laser is casted back at to the sensor, and use something reflective right in front of the laser to squeeze past it without disturbing the barrier. That method would be way to reliant on sheer luck, or mathematical skills, which you have neither of.

But... what if you just… pushed the entire barrier out of your way?!

You suck in a sharp breath and shuffle back to not accidentally bump into the laser's path, already pulling your bag to the front, fumbling with the zipper. In a flurry you have what you need, now you just need to calm the fuck down and be very, _very_ careful! A wrong movement, just a millimeter off and you can only hope that you have enough time to get the hell out of here before the pigs show up!

 

-

 

After what feels like hours, but according to your new watch only took you about twenty minutes, you look down at the fruits of your labor, your clothes now ultimately drenched by your own sweat. But you don’t pay it any mind, your entire focus is on the next part of this insane contraption you foraged: using the thin steel-rod from your first break-in as a stabilizing foundation, you had connected the two compartments of the optical barrier with an intertwined, sturdy thread of copper wiring, hard enough to not get bend under normal force, wrapping the loose strands of wire around the laser and the reflector and tightly twisting them together so that there was absolutely no wiggle-room for either of them.

Now, it was time for the _hard_ part.

Holding your breath, you push past the alarm system once more to give the power chord a closer look. As you suspected, it's completely loose in the tunnel, disappearing into the darkness. _Alright_ , you think, _that should work. As long as I use an alternative route to get out, or else the whole thing is gonna fall over once I try to climb back in here with even more loot._ But that was another problem for later. Now, you need to scoot all the way back to the laser and unscrew both that and the reflector in order to get to the last and most dangerous phase!

Your knife makes quick work of the tiny screws with which the laser trap is bolted to the ventilation tunnel, and you pocket them automatically to not leave unnecessary hubris behind that might bite you in the ass later. Then you take a deep breath, hold it, and grab the laser by the cable sticking out of it, giving it the gentlest of pulls. Both components move in sync, none of them wobbling, the red light keeping up its lazy blinking with the exact same frequency. You pull again. The laser blinks. Inch by goddamn inch you pull the entire setup deeper and deeper into the vent until you’re far enough away from the grid. Only when you have cautiously shuffled back to it, do you dare to take a deep, relieved breath. _Shit. That was scary!_  But you haven’t even made it halfway, now you need to actually get down into the store without tripping the alarms you don’t even know anything about yet! The rabid dog is still a likely option.

From outside the vent, it must have been looking pretty comical, the way the vent grid opens without a sound, only to immediately fall down a foot before a fumbling arm quickly shoots after it to snatch it out of the air, a dull _bonk_ following the frantic motion promptly.

You hiss out suppressed curses through your clenched teeth and silently place the cover panel next to the opening, flipping up your hood before carefully peeking out over the edge of the hatch, scanning the sales area below you.

No sound of any living being around you, no dogs, no guards. No laser grid either, at least none you can see this time. Infrared barriers were invisible to the human eye, but not the sockets that emitted them. With the night-vision binoculars, you quickly sweep the room, looking at the walls, and then sweep the room again, more slowly, checking the walls and the display cases in the middle of the vast hall, arranged in a few rows. The grid is there, sure enough, but from the positioning of the narrow, black boxes, you can tell that it's covering only a few feet in front each of the vast windows as well as the door, in case someone actually managed to lift or cut one of the shutters. The rest of the sale floor looks clean. Except for more cameras in the corners that is. You freeze and think about just bolting and counting your losses, but then you look closer and see that the cameras are actually offline, the little LED next to them black and dead. Maybe the owner switched between the exterior and interior cameras depending on the time of day, which made sense from a money-saving perspective.

You exhale shakily and slump a little in your vent, that call almost too close for comfort. But then you pull yourself together, maneuver around until you can slip your feet out of the duct and lower yourself into the store, stretching your aching limbs when you’re down on solid ground. Good thing you're not claustrophobic at all. You flip your bag around, spin your knife over the back of your hand a few times and look around you. _Time to get to work!_

Here’s something interesting about robbing a jewelry store, especially a fairly provincial one like this: once you’re past all the fancy security systems, getting the loot is as easy as it can be, as boring as shopping for groceries. You just jemmy the ridiculously simple locks on the display cases with a flat blade, pop the lid, and just grab whatever's inside and stuff it into a bag, or every fricking pocket you can fit on your person. You hum quietly to yourself, turning the rings you find around a little to check for the number indicating the alloy's composition, but the gold and silver loot seems legit so far. Now for the stones…

You open the front pocket of your bag and take one of the small flashlights out, as well as the laser pointer you took, shining both at the bigger ices you come across, looking for impurities and inclusions the light would bounce off from and that would bring down the diamond's worth. You’re really not an expert on stones, and without the right gear you can’t even tell if they're industrial diamonds or the kind people crawled through stuffy, mud-filled tunnels for, but up to now you had always managed to get them sold, no matter where you got them from, and for a solid price, too, if Sans' glinting pin-pricks had been anything to go by. That reminds you, with a scary amount of dread, that you have no idea how or where in this cursed dimension you could fence your goods! Of course… the boss might know. But you'd rather hoard the stuff and sleep on a mountain of diamonds and tacky jewelry than ask him for his contacts right now. _Remember, you're doing this for you!_

A huge collar quickly takes up all your attention and you closely inspect the display case it's in, realizing that you’ll need a bit more fiddling with the lock this time. Still, it’s just a simple cylinder-lock, and no match for your tiny lock picks. With one you carefully twist the lock in its socket until you feel the tension of the cylinders objecting to the rotation, taking the second lock pick and inserting it with the angled tip pointing up, sliding it gently back and forth inside the small lock, feeling for each cylinder. As expected, there’s only five of them and you quickly find the first seized one. Now you steady your hand even further on the one that’s still keeping the lock twisted and move the second lock pick micrometer for micrometer up, straining your ears against the sound of your blood and the general white noise that’s always there.

 _Click_.

It’s the quietest of sounds, yet to you it’s a crescendo of success every time, and you smile when the lock yields a little more under the rotational force you’re keeping on it. Unlocking the case doesn’t take you longer than twenty seconds and the glass door swings open without a sound. “Hello…” you breathe, letting your gloved fingers flutter over the golden collar. There’s dark stones the size of quail eggs set into the outer rim of tear-shaped elements, the one right in the middle even bigger than that. From the cut and color you think they’re probably rubies, accompanied by a smaller ring of stones over the teardrops, making up a beautiful, elaborate net of glinting treasures embedded into a heavy frame of gold. The pompous collar wanders into your loot-bag as well, naturally.

You loot every single case until your bag is heavy enough to border on becoming a risk to your mobility and you force yourself to stop. Over encumbering yourself would be a rookie-mistake. Now you had to figure out how to get out of here without tripping another alarm. The vent is out of the question; the risk of knocking the dangerously loose contraption you built from the laser over is way too high, and with your bag now stuffed you doubt you’ll be able to crawl through the shaft quickly enough before the popo shows up. Front door is a no-go as well, for obvious reasons of the shutter kind. Which leaves you with only two options: checking the back for an exit and just book it in case it’s hooked up to an alarm, or find another, unlikely, escape route.

Carefully making your way through the shop towards the counter, you suddenly stop and bite your lip, regarding the antique cash registry. Might be worth to look inside! But, sadly, you’re only met with emptiness once your Bowie knife has made short work of the lock. At least the owner was smart enough to empty the registry every day. Oh well. It’s not like you were hurting on money right now, the two thousand dollars from the electronics store are still snugly stashed in one of the hidden pockets inside your jacket, the thought eliciting a content smile from you. _Let’s just get back for now. This was only our first night out in town._ And you hadn’t even seen everything of the city yet!

The door behind the counter leads to a small, dark hallway with more doors, darker rectangles in the night-vision of your toy-binoculars, branching off to the left and right of it. And one, heavier door at the end of the hallway, decorated by a glowing emergency-exit-sign. Along with a blinking, moving camera. You quickly slink back behind the door you came through, making a reluctant noise. A fixed camera could have been taken out of commission with one of the laser pointers aimed straight at it, but since it's swaying from one side to the other, that option was already out. You had no climbing spikes to approach it from the ceiling, and the doors on either side are probably all locked as well, so you wouldn’t be able to dash from one to the other while the camera was pointing in the opposite direction.

You squat down behind the door, eyeing the camera through a tiny slit, racking your brains. _It’s definitely using a residual light-amplifier, probably even infra red to pick up body-heat, otherwise I don’t see a reason why the owner would bother to switch off all the other cameras inside and keep this one on. It might have already spotted me when I opened the door, but I got out of sight pretty quickly so…_

    “Fuck it. I'm taking the direct route.” You hiss and detach one of the few throwing knives left on your belt, giving the blade a quick kiss for luck. In the next second you throw the door open, aim, pull your arm back and throw the knife with deadly precision. The camera explodes into a million pieces and before the knife hits the ground, you’ve already crossed the corridor halfway, sprinting to the back door. It's locked, of course, but now time seems to slow as adrenaline floods your body, channeling your focus on the task at hand and nothing else. Your fingers fly through the process of cracking the lock, every movement purposeful and confident, since, you know, your life very much depends on this. By now someone must have noticed that the camera is offline and it's only a matter of time and efficiency concerning the coordinating forces until someone's going to show up here with probably lethal forces not far behind.

The lock snaps, the door slams open, and you dash over the backyard, readying your gaff. The wall is low enough to climb over without it, but the rope makes it a lot easier still and you're already half a mile away from the jeweler when you hear the first police siren in the distance. Your mind tries to panic for a second, telling you that _this is it, this time they’re gonna get you!_ , but you rein it back in and call up the map inside your head, estimating your rough position and how to get back to base. The store front was pointing north, which means you’re currently running south, leaving Blackhat’s mansion to the southwest of you. But that is also where the sirens are coming from.

You skitter to a halt in the shadow of an alley, twisting your head this way and that until you’re pretty sure you know where the cars are. Getting back to the manor on a direct path is out of the question, you can very well imagine what Blackhat will do to you if you return with the police on your heels! No, you need to stick to the smaller streets and backyards and take a huge detour to shake your pursuers for good! Sure, a few of them will stay behind to investigate the crime scene, but the entire _rest_ will probably fan out immediately to hunt you down! Shit, you should have left a few false clues to lead them away from the hat. Well, nothing you can really do about that now! Now all you can do is _run_! Fast!

The alley spits you out into another open backyard, the dark houses around it crumbling, dilapidated structures from what you can see in the darkness, no light glowing behind the black rectangles. The overgrown garden offers enough protection from prying eyes and you cower down in the grass, slowly making your way to the destroyed wired fence, pausing now and then to listen for the sirens. They’re closer already!

There's no time; you sprint through the bushes, ignoring the thorns and thistles scratching up your legs through the leggings but grateful for the mask and gloves protecting your face and hands. You vault over the lowest part of the sagged fence and make a shocked sound when the ground suddenly drops off into a steep slope, reacting too slow to catch your balance in time. The only thing you can do is curl in on yourself and protect your head but the fall down the hillside is still painful, every stone, every gnarled root another bruise you’re going to be brandishing the next day. You just hope the end comes soon.

And it does, lucky you! The impact is hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs. For a few heartbeats you just stay lying in the dirt, sending feeling into every limb to make sure nothing's broken or dislocated. Yet, apart from the million bruises, you’re still in one piece. But you don’t have time to check if your loot survived the fall as well, all that noise must have alerted the entire block! When you jump back to your feet, you freeze, eyes quickly darting around in alert.

The ditch you just came down so unceremoniously is actually the dried out bed of a river that disappears between the ominous shadows of trees to both sides. Though, upon closer inspection it looks more like some sort of drainage canal in case of a flood caused by heavy rain. Which means it probably is connected to the sewer system of Hatsville! And one of the manholes bearing Blackhat’s insignia is right in front of the manor! You’ll just have to not get lost in that labyrinth somehow, but at least it might offer enough cover until the cops lost your trail, provided they don’t use hounds for their search, but that seems a little extreme for a simple burglary.

You examine the canal for another minute, trying to estimate in which direction the entrance to the sewer might be located, before flipping your bag around and taking out one of the bigger flashlights, placing it on the ground, where it promptly starts rolling to your left. “So, the coast has to be this way, which means that the right leads me back to the sewer.” You mumble, crosschecking the fact with your internal map, which confirms it. Blackhat’s lair has to be located right in the middle of the island, and the underground sewer system probably has its center there as well, right underneath the hat.

    “Right under the source of everything shitty.” You snort and pick up the flashlight, making your way quickly up the dried out concrete flow, keeping to the shadows of the trees. The way does slope up ever so slightly, and you walk faster, the sound of police cars still not any quieter. The laptop bag is heavy around your shoulder, your greed all too evident on the long hike back, and you hope you won’t be all too dished in the morning for the heist on the museum with Void. Suddenly you stop dead in your tracks and duck behind a bush. There’s most definitely light shining through the trees, by the looks of it a campfire. _Crap, who the fuck decides to camp in such a creepy forest this close to the fricking city??_ You silently move closer, sneaking from cover to cover, always checking your immediate surroundings before changing your position.

After fifty yards, the trees give way to a narrow clearing that ends in the gaping, black entrance to the sewer system, high enough for you to walk in without scraping your scalp against the brick ceiling. And squatting between you and your escape route is a group of a dozen drifters, huddled around a sooty fire of old wood boards and scraps of trash, handing bottles of cheap booze and plastic bags filled with glue around. You scrunch up your face behind the mask. Drifters were a tricky bunch, especially when you didn’t know them already and even more so in towns like this one. You had nothing of worth you could offer them in exchange for free passage, and you would rather chop your own leg off than give them any of your loot, not that they could even hope to make it into cash anyway. Nope, your best chance at success would be to sneak around them towards the tunnel or wait until they were all too high or drunk to really pose a threat to you. But, from previous experiences, that could likely turn out to take all night. Time you did not have as of right now, not with the police sirens still howling in the distance!

In fact, the drifters seem pretty alert because of the commotion already, lifting their heads now and then to peer into the darkness. The leader, a relatively muscular guy with a patchy beard and greasy black hair, sporting a big crowbar that he’s stuck through the belt loop of his dirty pants, twitches whenever the sirens change position, his hands opening and closing into tight, angry fists, his knuckles scarred and crusted with old blood. Yup, that one’s gonna be trouble if he spots you. The best approach here would be to sneak as close to the sewer entrance as their combined field of vision allowed and then use a distraction to make them look the opposite way before diving into the protective darkness.

You slink back behind the trees and take another huge detour to circle the campsite and get to the side of the hill where the canal disappears in the earth, always keeping your eyes on the ragtag group of unfortunate souls. You had no ill-will or prejudice against them. After all, if Sans had not taken you in when he found you rummaging around his food storage, you would have ended up as one of them, if not dead. They were also just trying to get by and didn’t have the luck of belonging to a prestigious gang of mobsters like you once did, but they, too, had every right to defend their temporary home and belongings from any danger. A masked, unknown character of questionable moral alignment skulking around in the dark and equipped with knives could easily be considered a huge threat to their lives. So, best to avoid every form of confrontation until you had something that you could offer these people as a sign of peace and trust between yourself and their group. Beggars and drifters could be huge allies if you respected them and paid them appropriately for information or shelter. It was just another form of business in the underground.

Later, you would smack yourself for not thinking about the two thousand freaking dollars in your possession, but at this point you had completely forgotten the money you stole from the electronics store and only cared about getting your precious gold and diamonds safely back to the lair of Nyarlathotep.

With your back pressed against its bark, you glance around the side of the tree right next to the dark entrance to the sewers. Behind it, the area is frighteningly open and well lit. If you had a bottle of water and a few small balloons, you could have easily snuffed that puny fire out and created both a distraction for yourself and blinded the entire group at the same time for at least one minute. But now you had to rely on other, more elaborate methods of diversion. Like the noisemaker you had quickly crafted during your detour through the bushes, out of batteries, a transistor and one of the clam shell phones from your bag, and that’s waiting at the other side of the clearing for its timer to go off. Electronics stores turn out to be the best place to find useful tools for a thief yet again! Your legs tingle from tension, your eyes burn from the strain of keeping them opened for so long but you can’t let any of them out of sight for one second! If just one spotted you, you were done for.

The shrill sound of the phone going off is loud enough in the nightly silence to make even you flinch in start. The drifters all jump to their feet, some of them who are already too wasted fall flat on their backs trying to react in time. Their leader lets out a shocked scream of alarm, drawing the crowbar. All eyes are focused on the source of the horrible din, expecting an attack, and you make your move, darting out from the shadow of the tree and straight into the tunnel.

    “Woah there, where did you-“ A hand comes down on your right shoulder out of the dark, pain flaring through your body from the cauterized bite wound, and without really realizing what’s happening, other than the brief but violent wave of _rage_ , you spin around and swing your right arm up and behind you in a wide, unhesitating arch, slashing the drifter open from his right side to his left ear with the Bowie knife. Blood splashes onto your mask, covers half of the visor, and the man you just gutted stares at you with wide, surprised eyes, his mouth still open from the last syllable he spoke to you. His hands, both empty and gaunt, grasp at the gaping hole in his chest and neck, and as he falls to the ground you can only stare back at him in shock, entirely stunned yourself. When had you drawn the knife? Why had you lashed out immediately? What the hell had just happened here?!

Screams ring out in front of you, but you don’t hear them. You’re still looking at the blood that’s spurting out of the drifter’s slashed throat, seeping into the earth. The cut is so deep that you can see white bones and thyroid tissue through the flood of red.

    “Oh God, oh God, Jonesy! Jonesy, Jo- oh dear Lord and Savior, stay with me Jonesy!” The leader cries out, trying with shaking hands to keep the life inside of the other man who’s weakly grasping for the many hands reaching out for him, his eyes already growing dim. His frail chest beneath the cut, ragged shirt trembles once more, then his hands slacken. The drifters all cry out in unison, weeping, sobbing and holding each other for comfort. And you can only stare, mortified. You had killed him. You had killed an unarmed man who had never done anything to you and had not posed a real threat to you, emaciated as he was. The drifters seem to realize this in the same moment, their leader lifting his head to shoot you a glare through his tears that spells out what he’s going to do before he even raises his broken, hoarse voice:

    “You… you killed my _brother_! You k-killed him! He didn’t do nothing wrong, never! I’ll skin you alive! Murderer! _Murderer_!” He howls in agony, scrambling to his feet and grabbing the crowbar from the ground where he had dropped it to charge you, but your body has finally shaken the paralysis and you already wheel around to sprint into the dark tunnel, your hood barely staying on your head. The shouts of the drifters echo around you like the screams of vengeful spirits as they quickly take up pursuit. And they probably know the sewers better than you, because you don’t know _shit_ about the sewers! You had merely been running from getting arrested, but now you are running for your fucking life! 

* * *

*Very, Very Slightly Included (1st Degree) – Diamond clarity inclusions rated VVS1 are not visible at all under 10x magnification

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing some actual thief stuff for a change... even tho researching this is one bitch and a half if you catch my drift x'D
> 
>  **Next chapter** with smut, yes! **on the 20th of October!**


	24. WTH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah Sunday morning and I'm getting SICK! Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter guys, thank y'all so much for all the love this received so far 💕

_“Y-you don' wannit?” you say, hesitant, tripping over your feet when he suddenly advances but Blackhat catches your fall._

_“The loot is acceptable, but there is something else I’d much more prefer, my little thief.”_

 

### 24\. WTH

 

 

They are still chasing you! No matter how many turns you took, no matter how fast and quiet you ran, the drifters were still on your heels.

You curse yourself wildly in your head, your labored breath fogging up the rest of the visor that isn’t covered by an arterial spray of blood, making it even harder for you to see where the hell you’re going. The reality of what you had done is still only sluggishly dripping into your conscious mind, held back by your firm belief that you were not, in fact, a murderer! But you were. You had killed that poor son of a bitch whose only concerns had probably been how to survive the next day and keep his family of tramps safe from harm. You didn’t even _have_ to kill the guy, you could have just kicked him, or shoved him off of you or even threatened him with the knife to get past him, but you absolutely did not have to kill him! Especially the _way_ you did! That had been brutal overkill! That hadn’t been _you_ back there!

 _He was in your way. He would have stopped you._ A cold voice whispers inside your head. _No,_ you object in utter horror. You had never ever killed someone before, not even when you were in mortal danger, that just wasn’t you! You had hurt people when necessary, but taking a life was simply a line you refused to cross.

 _Well, the_ old _you got herself killed by Sans._ The voice scoffs. _Wingdings was right, you're dead to the world and now all you got is this one last dice game where the old rules don't count shit anymore! There’s literally nothing stopping you from getting what you want with whatever means._

    “Yeah? Well, tell that to the angry mob chasing us you shithead!” you wheeze out, your voice high and thin from running with the heavy bag still digging into your left shoulder. This is insane, now you’re already talking to inner voices! And while you could theoretically summon Blackhat with his real name anytime (though maybe he would be prepared for that now and just straight up refuse to _be_ summoned), you have serious doubts that he would actually _help_ you. It was much more likely that he would cheer the drifters on to tear you into bloody strips, or even sell them some silver butter knives to do it. The ridiculousness of that mental image elicits a hysteric laughter from you. You slap a hand over your mouth, smacking the hard mask against your teeth. Apparently you had really lost your mind somewhere on this escapade; keep acting so stupid and they would get you at the next right turn!

That reminds you: you have absolutely no idea anymore where the fuck you are or where the hell you’re even going. In your panic you had just run away, the internalized map of the city and the knowledge of the four cardinal directions now absolutely useless to you! Fear grips your heart in an ice cold clutch and you try furiously to fight the tears stinging in the corners of your eyes. If you cried now it would all be over, then you could stop running altogether and just hope to somehow win a fight against ten rabid people with nothing to lose. Great job on your first heist in Hatsville, noob, better luck in the next life! The only gratification would be that good ol’ Lord Blackhat didn’t get to swallow your pathetic soul in the end after all! Victory!

The tears spill despite your best efforts. Shit, you don’t want to die, you didn’t mean to kill their friend (brother, poor Jonesy was Crowbar’s brother you monster!), you had only tried to get away from the cops so that your horrible eldritch boss would not send you to some terrible dimension of suffering or whatever, or worse, tear your other shoulder open with his freakish set of teeth to balance your appearance out because, good God, if there was anything that fucker cared more about than money it was fucking _aesthetics_! 

Cold water splashes around your feet, drenching your jika-tabis and your leggings and you whine in almost child-like petulance. _Perfect_ , you had obviously stumbled into the part of the sewers that’s actively used. The gross feeling and smell of standing in _shit_ is enough to put your panicked spiral on hold, allowing you to return to your senses for a second. The haunting sound of trampling footsteps is not right behind you anymore, which is _good_ for a change. It gives you time to stop and think what to do next. You’re terribly lost, no use to sugarcoat that in any way. You’re lost, scared, confused and bordering on freaking out, not to mention exhausted and hurting all over. _And dirty, don’t forget dirty, you’re literally covered in shit, piss and blood!_ The scoffing voice adds unnecessarily. _Noted,_ you think back angrily, fumbling with the zipper of your bag. One of the mini flashlights falls with a taunting _gloop_ into the black sewage, forever lost. The second lights up the tunnel in front of you, revealing an elevated concrete wall where two rats stand up on their hind legs, squeaking at you in indignation. You hiss at them until they scram and hop up on the narrow, dry wall, crouching to not bump your head.

When you hear the furious, but also very confused sounding voices in the distance, you freeze and snuff the flashlight instantly, listening against the sound of water sloshing and rats chattering, not to mention your own thundering heartbeat and haunted breath.

    “Where did they go?! Did anyone see?” That’s Crowbar. Had they actually lost you?! The answer to both your questions is faint muttering, which is pretty much the answer you had hoped to hear. Next, the canalisation erupts in hoarse, roared curses, the sound of a crowbar hitting concrete and screams of fear. _Huh. So they’re not such a happy family after all._ You giggle weakly, wheezing and on the brink of losing it, before you suddenly curl in on yourself, thankfully remembering in time to flip the hood back, and suffocate your shrill cry in the sleeve of your jacket, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, making yourself as small as you can. This is something you can’t suppress, a reaction so visceral and powerful that all you can do is to muffle its outbreak and hope you’re going to be okay afterwards, to still be in one piece after the storm passes. Somehow… in a very deep and suppressed part of your brain and your SOUL, it feels familiar. Like you’d done this before. The screaming, muffling, and rocking part. Not the killing somebody and losing your mind over it part, no.

You scream until your throat hurts too much to keep it up. Then you just wait, listening for approaching steps. Fortunately the painful feeling of being torn apart from the inside has ebbed away. But the sewer system stays quiet, almost too quiet… where were all the rats you had heard not a minute ago? Had your breakdown scared them off? Unlikely. You don’t hear anything, no drifters out to kill you, no rats, no police sirens. Your street instincts urge you to keep going forward, whatever you do, do _not_ stop in an unknown environment! At least something rational in all this madness; this was a logic you couldn’t defy or ignore. So you cover your face with the mask again and start crouching along the wall, looking for the wan light-fingers of a manhole above you to climb up and check where the hell you are. When you already fear there just isn’t going to be a manhole, you get blinded by a stray ray of pale light from above.

    “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you whisper intently, not sure to what higher power but you don’t even care anymore! The steel staves are slick and slippery under your feet and you’re once more eternally grateful for the medical gloves so you don’t have to touch icky, slimy algae, or the equally icky underside of the manhole cover. You have to precariously balance on the ladder with only your feet in order to be able to lift the heavy slab of concrete and iron over your head and keep it only a few inches lifted to see the street but to not be seen in turn. Your eyes dart frantically around behind your smudged visor and you yank the hood down to be able to see, searching for any clue, any landmark familiar to you, which is ridiculous, considering you had only been to the outside twice now! But then you see a shine of crimson, a familiar, oval shaped window in pitch black darkness in the distance right in front of you, before it gets obstructed by a boot so dirty you can’t even tell its original color or material, and then the manhole cover is ripped out of your hands, hitting the street with a sound so loud you flinch away from the opening with a startled yelp. Your feet slip on the icky algae and you fall, jerking your hands over your head to curl into a ball, _praying_ you don’t hit the narrow wall with the back of your neck! And if you do, that you’re dead immediately and not end up paralyzed!

For a frightening second you had seen the absolutely mad face of Crowbar, but the real dread only hits you when your back slams into the cold water, numbing your entire body before a horrible pain shoots through your spine. He had seen _your_ face, too! Your equilibrium is entirely out of whack from the impact, you eventually remember to right yourself up and get your fucking head out of the water to breathe, gasping desperately for air. You feel dizzy, sick and tired, so, so tired, but then the light gets blocked out by a huge shadow and you barely have time to jack-knife out of the way as the drifter already drops down into the tunnel, bringing his crowbar down on you with a mad swing. It brushes your thigh and you can feel it going straight through the leggings and your skin, the flaring pain only increasing when the disgusting water hits the wound. You cry out again and just run for it, knowing that the mansion is in a straight line with the sewer tunnel you’re currently in. You have to fight against the weight of the water to get away from Crowbar, who’s already splashing along behind you. He’s taller than you, which means his legs aren’t as far in the water as yours, which means in turn that he won’t have to use as much energy to make one step as you do, which ultimately means you’re not gonna make it in time before you’re completely exhausted and he catches up to you!!

You hear the metal whistling through the air and dive headlong again, retching when your face gets under water, but you can’t afford to be squeamish, not when the next swing is already aiming at your back! With a grunt, you pull at the strap of your bag, jerking it up higher on your shoulder, and the blow that was meant to carve a nice hole into your spine merely destroys one or ten of your loot-items. For an incredulous second you ask yourself why the hell you’re still hauling all this shit along with you that actually slows you down more, but then you see something out of the corner of your eye, illuminated by yet another manhole. It’s a black top hat inside a circle, spray painted on the brick wall. You’re close!

    “Stop running you piece of shit! I’ll kill you!” Crowbar howls with his hoarse voice behind you and suddenly a sharp pain against the side of your head knocks the literal lights out. You come to again, tasting bitter acid in your throat, your vision doubled, no, tripled from the swing with the crowbar. In the back of your mind you think that he couldn’t have really hit you, otherwise you would be dead now, but the majority of your brain is still struggling to even make your body function properly. You see your own ghostly hand grabbing the wall next to you before your vision gets black again, then something shiny in the dark water, droplets rippling off of black and red scales, the pattern of black and red stripes flinging you into another sickening vertigo that brings you to your knees.

Finally, with an almost audible snap, you come to your senses and wheel around, stumbling backwards in the black water that’s suddenly churning and surging as if you’re standing next to a waterfall. Screams - through the sound of furious waves you hear loud screams of terror and pain! What the hell is happening?! You have no doubt that you’re in danger, too; whoever is screaming is obviously getting attacked by _something_ that’s in the sewer with you! Blinking rapidly into the darkness to adjust your eyes, you fish out the flashlight in your jacket’s pocket, pointing it back into the tunnel where the screams are coming from. The light flickers only in rapid spurts, but each flash illuminates the scene in individual frames, so clearly that the images get branded into your retina, leaving white negatives in each following darkness: the drifter is trapped between the huge jaws of a monstrous, black and red banded snake, its head over two feet long, with teeth the size of your middle finger. Or at least you think they are that long - most of them are currently buried up to the gum inside Crowbar’s pale body, blood raining hotly down upon you. The snake whips its head up, adjusting its bite and the drifter’s agonized screams seize so abruptly that their following absence feels wrong to you.

Deaf to the inner voice screaming at you to run away, you keep staring at the terrifying series of stroboscopic images, see the snake dropping the lifeless body and swaying its head around towards you in one slow motion, a long, forked tongue flicking the air. The last thing you notice is that its eyes are blood red, the pupils lance shaped, so it's definitely venomous. And then the flashlight gutters one last time before it dies completely.

The darkness that follows is deep and eternal and you freeze where you stand in the water, clutching the dead torch with both hands, your eyes opened all the way and yet utterly useless. Your other senses kick in to help, but your smell is already overwhelmed enough by the stench of sewage, blood and death, leaving your taste (acid, blood, vomit), touch and hearing. You can feel the waves getting lower, the churning current stilling against your legs, your thigh burning where the crowbar slashed your skin open. Your ears pick up a faint hissing that’s slowly increasing in volume and shortening in distance. You start to tremble, the image of the hooked fangs still burned into your brain. When the gargantuan snake brushes against your knee in the water and spins you around by its sheer mass you flinch, your eyes clenching shut instantly out of reflex. The scales are each as big as your hand, you can feel this, too, as they glide along your leg. It moves slowly, but you notice immediately that the snake is circling you with its body, the hissing first behind you before it comes back around. Now you can smell the snake itself even through the stench of the sewage, its death-breath and the rotting remains of unfortunate victims between its teeth. The tips of the forked tongue flick against your cheek and you suddenly sob out. Blackhat, you have to call him for help, you have to try at least! But your teeth are chattering so badly that you can’t even form his eldritch name a single time. Tears are running down your filthy face in streams now and the snake flicks its tongue over it again, the hiss stopping.

 _This is it,_ you think, strangely distanced from your turmoil. _Pretty epic, getting eaten by a giant snake-monster. Nobody seen that coming_. You comfort yourself with the thought that you won’t remember the pain once you’re dead, swallow your choked up cries and manage one calm breath. But nothing happens. You frown, balling your hands into painful fists from the suspense. All of a sudden, the snake turns away and moves back into the tunnel, unravelling its body from you. You snap your eyes open in sheer confusion. Were you not food for it? Okay, you were a lot lighter and smaller than Crowbar had been, but that just made you an excellent entrée, right?

You stay where you are, afraid that one wrong move from you might alert the snake to your presence after all. One of your hands pulls the bag around in front of your body, mindlessly taking out another sealed flashlight, the last one, slowly unwrapping it. Your eyes are still fixed on a point in the darkness, unblinking, your mind, again, balancing blindfolded on a slim tightrope above a deep, gaping chasm of insanity. Would you fall this time?

_Click._

The flashlight illuminates the sewer in a bright, stark ray that makes the shadows too large and too dark. Slowly, very, very slowly you turn on one spot, hiking up your shoulders in apprehension. The giant snake ( _God it has to be at least twenty-some meters in length, if not more_ ) is busy unhinging its massive jaws, creeping up to Crowbar who’s floating face-down in the black water. When it suddenly shoots forward to swallow his corpse in one go, you wheel around, your mind falling, falling, and run down the flooded tunnel, too horrified to care if it decides to chase you now after all. You don’t want to see this, you don’t want to think about this, all you want is to thoroughly, _permanently_ forget this night ever happened in the first place!

Your mind is already coming apart at the seams again on its own and the blow against your head does its part; you have no idea where this strange door suddenly came from, for example, or how in the world you _know_ it’s an entrance to Blackhat’s mansion, but it just makes sense. Only he could envision a snake as big and terrifying as the one you encountered. It was the perfect security measure for a hidden backdoor. Maybe that snake had even been Blackhat himself in disguise, and you definitely wouldn’t put it past him to scare the ever-loving shit out of you while you were already suffering from a mental breakdown!  

Another momentary blackout and you find yourself inside a long, dark hallway, looking somehow familiar until you remember a similar tunnel leading to Dementia's room. You’re back inside the manor.

You turn around, confounded, staring at the opened door, the lock utterly destroyed by raw force. Had _you_ done that?! When you look down on your hand, you’re clutching the crowbar. With a strangled cry you drop it, recoiling from the echoing metal clang on the hard ground. Then you’re running again, tasting blood in the back of your throat, your arms and legs aching with every step, your head swimming. At one point you fall and don’t remember getting back up but you’re running again, recognizing the dungeon around you all of a sudden. Gigantos snarls behind you in surprise.

Booze, you had to find booze! Hard, liver-shredding liquor and schnapps to drink yourself into fucking oblivion! Fuck Void and fuck this stupid heist for some magical artifact, all you care about now is erasing the last 12 hours from your hard drive without any recollection of where those twelve hours went. You want to be so bloody hammered that not even Blackhat could wake you! And you might know one place where to look for what you need!

 

-

 

The fireplace in the lounge is still roaring with cold, unnatural green flames. Maybe you could eradicate the memory of what had happened in here as well, if you found what you were looking for. Not caring about anything at this point, you let the dripping laptop bag drop to the ground, shrug out of your wet jacket and walk over to the cabinet where your boss apparently stashes his most precious spirits. You have no idea how _literal_ that sentence is.

After pushing half a dozen dusty bottles with faded warning signs for poison aside, your cold hand wraps around the heavy, comforting neck of an entire, sealed bottle of finely distilled and aged gin. Of course your boss would have that in his drinks cabinet. You chuckle miserably, tears running over your face again but this time you wipe them off angrily, slashing the cap from the bottle with one swipe of your Bowie knife. Which still has Jonesy's blood all over it now that you look at it. Your chuckle escalates into a hysteric fit of hyperventilation and you whizz around, throwing the knife with a desperate, pained cry. The blade sinks up to the hilt into Blackhat's grinning face on a portrait at the other end of the lounge, the handle thrumming from the force. You sniff and knock the bottle back, drinking gulp after gulp, ignoring the burn the gin leaves in your throat. Part of you feels bad for disrespecting such an expensive brew, but then you take a few more deep swigs and the bad feeling goes away.

_Cut_

You're stumbling along the dark gallery, cackling at every other new photograph or portrait you discover, swaying dangerously from one side to the other. The second bottle you found that was actually drinkable had been an even more expensive Scotch, tasting like soothing, earthy and smoky nectar after the sharp and spicy gin, while getting you drunker and drunker with every drag.

The wet, heavy bag you’re pulling along over the floor gets caught on the display socket of a set of armor and you free it with a yank before bowing deeply towards the empty armor, waving your hand.

    “’scuse me miss… di'nt s-see you there.” When you come back up and your eyes manage to focus for a second, you dissolve into cackling laughter again. There's, how could it be any different, a black top hat atop the statue's helmet. “Eheheheee, fu-fuckin' _hats_. Sosoopid.”

_Cut_

You’re in the hallway to Blackhat's office, but you don’t know that. All _you_ know is that you’re back in that warehouse by the sea side, drunk out of your ass, already dreading the lecture from Frisk. But maybe they won't lay into you so much since you brought the bottle along to share, as well as some fancy loot! And maybe, juuuuust maybe, you could flirt your way out of that confrontation again.

You grin tipsily, nodding, with a violent hiccup almost throwing you off balance. _Great idea, me. Thanks me! You’re welcome, me._ Without bothering to knock, since, you know, this was also your room, you kick the door open and holler in greeting, nearly getting hit by the door swinging back around. With the lucky reflexes of a complete and utter drunk, you sidestep around the massive door, giggle, and twirl back onto your original, wavy path towards the end of the room, which seems strangely large now that you take a look around. Man, you were _wasted_!

   “Honeyyyy I’m hoo-oooome!” you sing out, erupting into snorting laughter and promptly curl in on yourself to not pee your pants. _That_ would be beneath you… literally. Still snickering, you come back up and blink lazily at the dark silhouette of Frisk, who's staring back at you so scandalized you immediately roll your eyes, groaning at the dizzy spinning that causes. "Oh c’mon, Fris! Fris-Fras. D-don' gimme that-that look. Hehe. Tha', that lookie-loo. I know!” You suddenly bark, standing up straight and placing a hand on your chest in guilty admittance. “I’m _dunk_! Uh… drunghk. Geeeeeet _drunked_ on!” Holy shit! That is by far the funniest shit you ever came up with! Oh God you _had_ to tell Sans this one! Now _he_ would be someone who appreciated a good bad pun! Unlike Frisk, who's expression is still anything but amused, but now they eye you with a bit more interest. _Ohohoo, time to bring out the big guns then! All aboard the MS Seduction and show no mercy!_

“Soooo,” you lilt suggestively, biting your bottom lip, still not fully able to rein that snort in. You shoot Frisk a look from beneath your lashes, digging your toe into the floor when they arch an eyebrow at you. Maybe it was because of the low light in here, definitely because of the booze, but somehow Frisk looked different. Yet they don't move away when you slowly approach them, your fingers walking a teasing path up their chest, tilting your head back with another giggle before you pause, perplexed. “Okay, I wuz gon’ask ifyou're uh… upfursum.. _fun_ … but… that _hat_ is acshually dista- disht-… you look _funny_ Friskybunny!” You snicker and reach up to steal their ridiculous hat, but when you lift it off, there's suddenly another, smaller hat beneath it! And under that one is another, weird one! And another one! There's just no end to them! Wait a second… black… hats?

You blink a few times, squeeze your eyes shut for a second and suddenly find yourself under the burning eye of Lord Blackhat, currently wearing a black fedora with a red hatband and a feather stuck in it. His mouth is twisted into that stupid frowny face he pulls whenever you annoy him, the one that’s already bordering on a teeth-baring snarl. You take an outraged, dramatic breath and lean back, your finger pushing accusingly into his shirt.

    “Blathack! Bla- … _Boss_! Di- didchu trick me again?!” His giant teeth part to retort something but you snicker again already and shove him a little, stumbling away when he does not move at all from that push and the entire force is used against you. “S-s-s- _stop_ tha'! So silly… Oh, oh! Blackhatty, hehe,  Black Betty bam-a-lam… H-here, I-, I-I-I-got sumthin'… got some… hic- _here_!” You drop the empty bottle and spin around in circles trying to seize the dripping, smelling laptop bag illuding your grip that you’re still clutching in your other hand, eventually remembering to just lift up the hand that holds the strap, and unzip the front with a beaming smile. All the gold and silver jewelry you stole falls onto the floor and you shake the bag violently up and down until even the last ring rolls away over the carpet.

Blackhat makes no move, only follows the ring with his single eye, antennae-brows already drawing together again when his gaze snaps back to you, promptly darting down to your chest where it stays for one, two seconds, his expression suddenly switching to one of surprise before a victorious grin quickly splits his face apart and he returns your expectant, drunk, cross-eyed smile with a look of sinister glee. There’s something unsettling in the way he fixates you that even unnerves you in your drunk state, and you swallow nervously, pointing to your loot.

“Y-you don' wannit?” you mumble, hesitant and more than a little scared, tripping over your own feet when he suddenly advances in one swift motion, but Blackhat catches your fall easily, dipping you back to lean over you with his single eye blazing red from the shadow of his fedora.

    “The loot is acceptable, but there is something else I’d much more prefer, my filthy little thief.” He growls, his gleaming eye widening at you and the lance-shaped pupil pulses, spinning into a slim spiral that turns and turns until you can’t look away. For the fraction of a moment your head is crystal clear again, and fear surfaces briefly to warn you, when Blackhat's hand on your back slips lower and under your wet shirt, flinging you back into that pleasant, fuzzy haze in which a feeling of lust begins to swing along. You know what he’s insinuating and you try to fight the burning itch that has unexpectedly spread to your core. That tormenting, yearning sting you hoped to feel with someone else tonight, but now that you’re here and already hot and bothered you don’t see a reason not to play along, even though you have to struggle to keep your cool demeanor. After all, you were the one calling the shots!

But before you can do or say anything (probably stupid and drunk), his face closes in on yours and he presses a slow kiss to your parted lips, his tongue flicking against yours ever so slightly, and all you manage to utter is a breathy, surprised sigh for _more_. Blackhat rights you back up, shoots you another sharp-toothed grin and runs his gloved claws over your ass, making you shudder.

    “So tell me, _______,” he husks right next to your ear, pulling you flush against his body by the leather straps of your gear belt and you _whimper_. “Are _you_ up for some fun?”

 

_CUT_

 

    “Take it off already! It smells horrid!” Blackhat grunts and grabs your t-shirt but you viciously shake your head and cross your arms over it, yelping when he simply drags your already naked ass off the desk by its collar. One of the seams rip and you reach back to slap him, so hard your hand feels like it's gone up in flames, actually managing to smack his head to the side. He stays like this for a second, and you barely have enough time to realize what you have done before his face snaps back around to you with a dry crunch, monocle glowing red and his mouth opening entirely too wide, spawning sawblades and insect-like claws to tear you apart. A horrible roar is working its way up his throat but you stay where you are and tighten your arms in front of your chest again, deciding you’d rather take the hit.

    “I- I don't want you to see!” you squeak out at the last second, clenching your eyes shut. The screeching sawblades retract and when you peek through one eye, Blackhat is looking at you with a bored, irritated scowl again. His red dress shirt is already half unbuttoned and you see the strange, ashen skin of his chest that seems to move and churn in unnatural ways, making you sick from looking at one spot for too long. _Oh_.

    “You- you don’t care about scars, huh.” You mumble flatly, raising your arms without a fight when he grabs the hem of your shirt this time to pull it over your head in one blurred yank and toss it aside, exposing your badly scarred upper body to the open.

    “Quite the opposite.” Blackhat growls, lifting you back up on the desk to step between your legs, pinching your breast with his teeth and swiping his tongue over the nipple he has caught, sucking sharply. You hiss out at the pain and yet arch your back at the same time to come his way. “I want to add my _own_.”

 

_CUT!_

 

    “Please… _fuck_ , just let me- let me-!” you gasp, breathless, not sure if you're still trying to hold on to the wood of the desk or pull yourself away from Blackhat, who tuts at your outburst and stops yet _again_ , causing you to wail in frustration and bang a fist on the desk's surface, earning your neck a sharp yank where his fist is still buried in your hair to keep your head up.

    “ ** _What_** _did I tell you?_ ” he snarls, using his demonic voice again which is by now almost enough to push you over the edge on its own, but of course he knows that and keeps it just so that it _doesn’t_.

_Fucking bastard!_

You cry out in shock and pain when his free hand slaps your rear hard enough to almost break the skin, his teeth suddenly pressing into your cheek as he bends closely over you, hot slobber running down your worried neck and chest, burning on the spots where his fangs have left countless marks.

    “You’re thinking out loud again, my dear _______. Now _say it!_ ‘Please _…_ ’…” he lets the sentence peter out like the sadist he is, pushing ever so slightly against your entrance with various slick, dripping organs in a silent promise to finish you off properly ( _lying, he’s lying, he’s gonna stop again right before-_ ).

    “Please!” you sob out in defeat against the strain on your bent throat and the sharp pain his teeth threaten you with and that you crave all the same. You’re glad he called you by your name, though. You don’t think you could remember it anymore. Blackhat moves behind you again, chuckling darkly at your futile attempt to snap your hips back and simply take what you wanted so badly, his free hand now snaking around your hip to your front. Another clipped gasp shakes you, and then you twist your head against the cruel grip he has on your sweat-drenched, messy hair, meeting his already parting teeth with a desperate, sloppy kiss, breathing: “Please, Lord Blackhat, please let me c-"

 

_FINAL CUT_

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"Snake? Snaaaaaake!"

 

Art ©️ ThetruemeK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If y’all don’t call in sick to work tomorrow because of the whiplash this insane ride gave you I’ll throw in the towel gawddamn!!! 🤣
> 
> Shoutout to Beepy - my dude you were spot on, kudos, I was reeling when I read that comment!!💕
> 
> So, congrats dear reader, you fucked your horrible new boss from hell! Completely drunk! What an achievement! If only it hadn't been for all those blackouts in between, huh? Think good ol' Nyarlathotep is gonna fill you in? Oh wait, he already did!!! LMAOOOO aight aight no need to shoot me, I'll see myself out*deepthroats a shotgun*
> 
> Side note! This is kind of a poll, opinion assessment, so sound off in the comments about what you think  
>  **I'm thinking about integrating Alastor the Radio Demon from Hazbin Hotel into this fanfiction!** Maybe just a short cameo but if you like I could write something longer with him no probs I'm OBSESSED with that deer demon holy ashdjshgkjl! Yeah, just lemme know, huh? It might take him some chapters to appear tho~
> 
>  
> 
> **Next update on the 27th of October!**


	25. Evil Night Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evil morning my lovelies, I am tripping from anxiety because of a business trip I have to make that I'm not sure got paid already by my work-place and student loans I already paid off but got notified again to pay off this week so now I am confused, jittery and paralyzed...
> 
> So you get this week's chapter two days earlier because this fanfiction is literally the only thing keeping me regular, as ironic as this might sound 💕 thanks again for all the hits, kudos and comments, y'all are some real heroes *gets slapped by Blackhat and whipped back to writing*

_“So, in theory… in the event that someone were to-“ – “Oh God,” Flug groans, turning around to you, frowning, “what did you do?!”_

### 25\. Evil Night Together

 

 

When you wake up, there is a single blissful second in which nothing hurts and everything is alright. But then the second passes and you furrow your brows with clenched eyes at the pounding headache. It's like someone is banging against the bone of your forehead with a hammer from the inside, trying to get out, but only lackadaisically, and you would rather they come out _now_ and leave you to die! But that doesn’t happen of course and they keep on bangin'.

You exhale a strained breath, immediately noticing that your mouth tastes disgusting and your tongue feels like something furry crawled inside at night to shrivel up and die from dehydration. You try to move your lips a little but they, too, are swollen and crusted with blood, stinging with pain when you tear them away from each other.   _Jesus fricking Christ what the hell happened?!_ Unfortunately there’s a hole the size of South City inside your throbbing head, the last thing you can clearly remember is being outside on a roof after robbing that electronics store…

Something must have happened after the store that you decided to drink yourself to oblivion, that much is obvious, and you don’t even try to remember what it was because a) it makes the pounding worse and b) you only ever drank that hard to _forget_ stuff of the bad kind. Judging from this hangover of the century, it must have been _really_ bad. Well, at least you somehow made it back to your comfy, luxurious bed in Blackhat's manor, plastered as you were, and you roll onto your left side to get a little more rest and hopefully lessen the pain, pausing in sudden confusion when there's an intense brightness hitting your eyelids. _Wait_ , you think, _did I fall asleep on the wrong end of the bed?_

Silly, but judging from the light source, which can only be coming from your windows late in the morning, you definitely ended up with your head on the foot side of the bed. Smirking crookedly at your drunk shenanigans, you decide to check in what weird position you actually are right now, when there’s the distinct sound of a newspaper page being flipped over next to you, accompanied by a quiet sip on a cup with something hot in it.

You freeze, alarm making your entire body seize up. Why is there someone in your bed?! And who, pray tell, is it?! It can only be Dementia, she had the audacity to invade your private space before, and you _did_ flirt with her, even if it had been out of self-preservation, but what would she want with a newspaper-

 _Oh. Oh no. Oh please, dear God no, don’t. This can’t be happening!_ Dread, denial, and the desperate attempt to recall how you ended up in here with someone other than Dementia, fight for control over your miserable brain, ending up with your primal instincts taking the wheel and making you snap your eyes open, while clawing at the sheets to be able to maybe defend yourself with it?! Red light blinds your suffering eyeballs and almost destroys your brain by the crushing headache reacting to the light, but you had managed to see your surroundings for the split of a second, noticing the three arched windows across from you that were actually on the wrong side of the room.

Wait _… what?!_ You force your clenched eyes open again and stare, perplexed, at the entirely unknown room stretching out before you. The three windows with heavy curtains set into an oriel, an antique writing desk underneath them, but you don’t dare to move your head to look further around. It's gloomy in here and cold, the space tinged in hellish, crimson light; the walls, too, a purgatorial red, as is the floor and the ceiling and-

This isn’t your bed. This isn’t _your_ room, either. This isn't even a room you know! Were you actually even in the _manor_?! And, more important yet: where the hell are your clothes?! You fight the urge to tightly wrap yourself up in the blanket and just scream out loud in confusion; after all, you’re still alive and don't seem to have any broken bones, even though your entire body hurts as if you had been tossed into a meat grinder for a few hours. _Wait_ … Hidden under the blanket, you feel over your body and bite down on your other hand to keep from shrieking when you find dried blood and fresh bruises _everywhere_ along the way, each alarmingly painful to the touch.

The someone next to you shifts, sighs exasperated and ruffles the newspaper again, indicating quite clearly that they know you’re awake by now. You can’t take it any longer, you have to know! You slowly turn back over onto your other side, inch by inch, your eyes widely opened in apprehension. And there he is, Lord Blackhat himself, sitting upright with his back resting against the high head end of his horrible canopy bed of evil comfort, nursing a hot cup of tea - or poison you can't really tell - his single eye probably scanning the lines of the newspaper he’s holding but from where you're lying, you only see his left side, the one with the-

Your poor brain stumbles to a screeching halt and you blink at the sight, trying one more time to understand what's in front of you. Blackhat is wearing a long, black sleeping hat with a red tassel instead of his top hat, a red morning robe with a plush black collar and matching cuffs, and over his left eye is-

    “Is… is that a _sleeping-mask-eye-patch_?” you blurt out, your voice hoarse and your throat raw as if you had been screaming the entire night. The black, satin eye patch over Blackhat's left eye is adorned with the stitched, white image of a stylized closed eye and a few lashes, confirming that it is indeed a sleeping mask. Blackhat doesn’t even bother to look at you and turns another page.

    “Judging from your _horrendous_ snoring, I take it you slept well?” his gravelly, rasping voice is even deeper and raspier in the morning and it _does_ things to you that you're not sure of if you like them. Then you really register what he said and sit up abruptly in indignation, holding your erupting volcano of a skull with a hiss.

   “I- I don’t _snore_ , what the hell man?!”

Blackhat throws you a side-look so pointed you immediately swallow every other protest you have readied, and you silently pull up the blanket to cover your naked frame, drawing your legs up. His single eye follows the motion and he lets out a scoffing snort, chuckling quietly to himself before going back to reading today's _Hatsville News_ in silence. You just stare at him, your mind on the brink of exploding like a kettle under pressure. Why the hell was he okay with you still being here? Why had he endured your _horrendous snoring_ without straight up murdering you?! Why were you even in his _bed_ in the first place?!? You didn’t just come up here, to this hidden room, you had no idea even existed until last night, because you were drunk and couldn’t find your own bed now, did you?! And why the _hell_ were you naked??! _Oh… oh God…_ There it is again, that unspeakable suspicion, that dreadful apprehension.

    “Did you, did _we_ -" you choke out faintly, feeling your face flush instantly. _There's no way this could have happened, not in a million years!_ You must have gotten the bruises and cuts on your drunk escape from the night out in town, yeah, that's it, that's probab-

    “We had _sex_ , yes, and I am a little miffed how you could have _possibly_ forgotten about it. But then again you were, to put it mildly, absolutely tanked*, dear.” Blackhat interrupts your thoughts, folding the newspaper neatly together and turning around to face you. A wide grin crawls along his dark features when he catches your expression of unadulterated shock and horror. “Ah, I knew it would be worthwhile to wait for you to wake. _That_ was priceless.” And with that he knocks back the rest of his tea, humming in content. You, however, finally explode.

    “How can you be so casual about this!? We- we had _sex_?! I have a hard time believing I’d ever agree to even letting you touch me, no matter how fucking drunk I was!” You exclaim in outrage, regretting it instantly. Your head is positively bursting from the volume of your own voice, the whole situation so insane that you simply fold your torso over your crossed legs and bury your face in the blanket, groaning. Next to you, Blackhat chortles darkly and leans over to you, sliding a cold hand along your back. Yet, instead of flinching away from his vile touch or puking like you normally would have, you let out a low, vibrating _moan_ when he runs his fingers over the length of your spine, startling yourself with your more than embarrassing reaction. The longer the touch of his strange hand lingers, the more you feel the urge to just crawl into his lap.

    “Are you quite certain about that?” he purrs slyly, knowingly, making the branding on the right side of your back throb with pain and your insides twist in want. You utter a miserable noise, thankfully muffled by the blanket, when his hand disappears again. This is madness! What had he done to you that you were so… that you _allowed_ this ( _don’t lie you bitch, not only are you allowing it, you_ want _this_ )?!

    “What the hell happened?” you ask him meekly, now desperate to remember what you did to end up like this. And to make Blackhat so goddamn _tender_ all of a sudden! “You didn’t do anything to my SOUL, right?!” you add, alarmed, but he clucks his tongue in reproach.

    “Of course not, I am a man of my word after all. I asked you what you wanted in exchange for… oh, how did I put it again? _Access to your body whenever I damn well pleased_ ,” he ignores your horrified “What?!” entirely, and continues: “and you replied your only condition is that I won't get to have your soul unless you died by the hands of someone else, which is, in all honesty, an absolutely worthless deal since the same is already stated in your work-contract; which you would have known if you had bothered to read it at all!” he stops his rant only to shoot you a lopsided sneer. You stare back at him, baring your own teeth in a challenge.

    “I would _never_ make a deal like that with you!” you hiss but Blackhat just grins wildly at your words, like he had expected you to say that, and sits up straighter in malicious excitement, pointing a thumb to the door by his right.

    “Shall I show you the recording, then? It is _quite_ the spectacle but I’d advice you not to eat anything before watching it.” His glee is evil and sharp, like a knife in your back. But you are way too hungover to keep up your volatile reactions to every new, horrible detail of your first night out, and, frankly, the worst cat is already out the bag: You willingly had sex with Lord Blackhat, it was apparently so disgusting that he decided to record it, and you made a terrible pact with him without actually getting anything out of it yourself, other than more humiliation and suffering in the future.

    “Pass. Poor cambot.” You hiss and flop back into the pillows in defeat, wincing at the wave of sickness moving causes. “Ugh fuck, I’m gonna die on that stupid heist tonight.” Which seems a way better option than living with this shame any longer.  

    “About that…” Blackhat throws in, suddenly sounding officious. Swinging his legs out of the bed to put his cup on a table to the side, he rises and turns around to you with a concerned frown on his face, tapping the rolled up newspaper into his other hand like a baseball bat. “I would caution you to not overly exert yourself on the job tonight… those eggs I laid inside you are extremely fragile and filled with acid.”

    “YOU LAID _EGGS_ INSIDE ME?!” you shriek out with your voice cracking, tears shooting into your eyes. Blackhat keeps his serious expression for another second before he dissolves into wheezing laughter, slapping his knee with the newspaper.

    “Mwahahaharr, ah another good one!” he croaks out after recovering from his fit, his shoulders still shaken by soundless laughter. You cover your face with your hands and let out a long, heavy sigh, more like a thin wail, wishing desperately you could _reset_ everything that had led up to this point! When the cold newspaper is thrown onto your bare stomach you flinch with a yelp, sinking back in exhausted relief after realizing it is not some dead animal he chucked at you. “Normally I would congratulate you for making it into today's news, however… _front page_?!” Blackhat's voice is an angry growl now and you quickly sit back up, expecting pain.

Your boss is standing at the end of the giant canopy bed, arms crossed in front of his chest, scowling at you. The sleeping mask has been exchanged for his monocle while you were pitying yourself, top hat crowning his skull already. Yeah, you really don't want to stick around and watch him get fully dressed. You’re mentally scarred enough as it is without actually remembering a thing. Then you process what he said, shrug, and rub your crusted face.

    “Blackhat, I have absolutely no fucking idea what happened last night, other that I robbed an _electronics_ store and got so drunk I did something even stupider than letting myself get caught by Dementia when I turned up here. _You_ tell me.” You sigh, furrowing your brows when he already summons black tentacles from the inside of his gown to strangle you with, enraged by your lack of proper form of address. “Oh shut up! We _fucked_ , for crying out loud, and you didn’t kick me out afterwards, so I get to call you _just_ Blackhat, _Blackhat_!” you bark and slap the first of the tendrils away, crossing your arms in defiance. He shoots you a brief, baffled look before scowling again, growling: “I liked that mouth of yours better when it was busy su-"

    “I get it! Stop! Oh my _God_!” you scream out, smacking your hands over your ears, your cheeks burning from shame. He’s still talking and you try to sing over it obnoxiously but then he starts gesturing with his hands as well and you let out a loud string of colorful swears with your eyes closed and a finger in each ear. Until Blackhat slaps you in the face with the newspaper. You look at the title, your headache objecting decidedly against reading anything, but then you’re already scanning the text, your eyes widening with each line as your memory wiggles its way through the darkness of the blackout, scraps of mental images already flashing before your inner eye up to one that makes you wince, clasping a hand over your mouth.

    “T- the drifters… _Crowbar_. Oh God, that snake! I-“ your eyes snap up to Blackhat's, which is fixed on your face, carefully reading every reaction and drinking in your surfacing horror with visible gusto.

    “It would appear you had quite the… expedition of the local flora and fauna.” He rasps, one grey finger tapping against the paper to remind you to read it all.

The front page covers the story about a burglary in Hatsville's renowned jewelry store, roughly two million dollars of worth having been stolen by an unknown thief, yet it was likely that it was the same person who later allegedly attacked a group of drifters, camped in front of the entrance to the sewer system. The masked assailant was said to have killed an unarmed man named Jonesy, brutally murdering him before escaping into the tunnels. A sketch artist had drawn a picture of the masked thief, based on the description from the rest of the hobos, who were also mourning the brother of their murdered companion, a man named Cliff that never returned after chasing the attacker through the sewers. The police was urging the citizens to properly lock their homes and invest in security measures to keep safe from this new dangerous individual still at large.

    “I reckon he met my pet, Little Jack. Alas he was not as fortunate as you to bear my mark.” Blackhat sneers but you only nod as the memories form an image in your mind, the entire terror from the night before nestling cozily right back into the center of your being. _You had killed someone in cold blood._ The thought is so unsettling that you completely miss Blackhat's pleased noise as well as his feverish glare trying to drill a hole into your chest; only when he drops the paper and yanks you up by your arm to kiss you greedily do you return to the present world. Shocked, you try to push him away yet your hands merely cling to the soft velvet of his robe, your lips parting on their own accord to let his forked tongue enter and slide around yours, before he grabs you tightly and that strange ghost-hand pushes its way down your throat towards your SOUL again. Now you do fight his advances, or try to at least, but there really is not much you can do against an unearthly, overpowered being of evil that's used to taking everything he wants!

Other than the last time he did this, Blackhat's eldritch touch lingers much longer on your very core, the divine essence that your body merely harbors, the actual object of his desire: your _soul_. It feels like he's probing it, examining it from every side, _tasting_ it! And with a wild, sudden surge of force you reject him, your SOUL baulking at the notion of being seen as _food_ , lashing out against the dark force circling it like a shiver of hungry sharks. The effect is as immediate as it is volatile and you hear a pained roar from Blackhat, snapping your eyes open when he brutally shoves you away from him. A black liquid, like tar, is oozing out of his mouth, dripping to the floor where it sizzles. The monocle has grown pitch-black, his visible eye torn open in shock and with red veins streaking the white of it. One of his hands is clawing frantically at his chest, the other trying to steady the swaying entity of evil incarnate against the desk next to the windows.

You stay where you are, unable to move despite the unsettling sight of Blackhat clearly _wounded_. By something _you_ did! Inside you, your soul feels more solid, shielded even, yet the feeling of actually sensing it quickly disperses, leaving you with only a lot of confusion and unease since your boss now looks like he’s mad enough to kill you right here and take that unruly soul of yours to crush it between his teeth. You cower down a little, not sure why you think you have even an ounce of a chance against him, naked and without any weapons as you are.

Blackhat is still panting for air, his mouth twisted into a furious snarl, teeth smudged with black… gunk. But then he briskly wipes it off with the back of his hand, taking a quick look around the expanse of the room before standing up straight again, suddenly seeming completely unharmed and composed. Yet his monocle is still not bright again, black smoke darkening it behind the glass.

    “I believe it's high time you stopped lazing about and got to work. See Flug for one of his remedies to cure your hangover, I can’t have you disgrace my Organization with sloppy work today. And do let him look after that leg of yours, the cut oozed all over the bloody sheets.” He hisses icily, already lifting a hand to snap you out of the room. You raise your arms to stop him.

    “Wait- hold on! What the hell was that? What happened to you, what did my S-"

 _Snap_ , and you fall through the floor and straight into your own bed, no detour through the in-between dimension of tormented souls this time, your head merrily pounding away to the rhythm of your heartbeat. You stare at the ceiling, letting reality come crashing down on you with its entire weight. Blackhat was not invulnerable as you had thought, and apparently he hadn’t known that either. This was getting weirder and weirder by the minute.

 

-

 

Once you’re gone Blackhat’s human form falls away from his true appearance, his inhuman scream of blind rage shaking the very fabric of reality itself, threatening to disturb He Who Dreams All, before he can rein his fury back in, his agony. He is mad with anger but also confusion; the vicious stab to his essence, the very concept of having pain inflicted on his person an act of atrocity in itself! Had the ancient, blind idiot suddenly forgotten how the rules of this reality worked?! He was Blackhat! He was Nyarlathotep, one of the Outer Gods, the bloody Crawling Chaos, capable of freely traversing every plane of existence as he pleased, invulnerable, _immortal_!

    “So how in the seven blasted pits of Hell is a mortal soul able to **_attack_** me?!” He howls, slavering in pure rage, the many tentacles of his surging eldritch frame curling at the memory of how painful the sudden, warning bite of your soul had been. Yes… it hadn’t simply attacked his essence, it had sunken sharp teeth into it, and had you been any more aware of what was going on, or a little more in tune with your own essence, he would have been too stunned to defend himself against a counterattack. Lured in like a moth to the damn flames! But that delectable growth of darkness within your soul, no doubt sprouted by killing the drifter, had made his accursed blood boil with the desire to taste it again; and after holding back the entire night only for you to come to your senses, he just hadn’t been able to wait any longer! He knew in every detail what you had done, had seen it, once again, in your subconscious mind while you were dreaming after passing out, knackered as the insane rump had left you. Somehow the memory of the night is enough to put a smirk on his face, before the severity of the situation calls him back to the much more important matter at hand. Bloody hell, your soul wasn’t just a dangerous temptation, it was a _weapon_! This _was_ bad. But also new, unprecedented and thus undeniably exciting, thrilling even! Blackhat feels his own exhilaration finally breaching through the churning ocean of his unleashed anger, settling his temper for good and clearing his head. He knew what to do. He had to learn more about your soul and where it had come from, who had tempered with it and what it was that made it so powerful, so volatile.

He suddenly wheels around, the black coat of his chosen avatar whipping around his knees, searching every known and unknown dimension in this reality for the mysterious intruder you had called Wingdings with a hard stare. But of course, _now_ there is nothing wiggling about between their layers.

 _That bastard knows something I don’t…_ he thinks, again in bafflement, anger and delighted surprise at the same time. This was getting more and more interesting by the minute!

 

-

 

Back in your room, you realize you have run into a problem. _How in the hell am I going to explain_ this _to Flug?!_ You stare at your reflection in the big mirror of your dresser, mouth agape at the battlefield Blackhat apparently left behind in his wake, though a tiny part of you still hopes that a few of those bruises and… teeth marks… somehow occurred during your escape from the drifters.

You do remember what happened after the jeweler now, but the rest, after running away from Blackhat's _pet_ snake, is still in the dark, and probably for the better. You don’t think he had been lying about the deal you made with him while being absolutely hammered, you just have trouble understanding how you could have been so utterly thirsty for some quick dick that you’d jump _his_ before even considering other, less horrible options. Like Dementia for example, or one of the hatbots, provided they were even equipped to do the horizontal mambo – shit, you’d honestly rather bang Flug than letting Blackhat anywhere near your nether regions, which, point in case, feel terribly sore and maltreated now that you’re standing for longer. He must have had paralyzed you again somehow, that might explain your reaction to his touch and when he had forced the kiss on you, just before his phantom hand groped your SOUL. There was no way you would suddenly fall for his _charm_ with all your senses still intact!

Hissing at a particularly painful bite, a ring of small stab wounds around your right nipple, you try to figure out how to go about the day from here. Preferably without losing your mind in the process. First, you needed pain meds, _badly_ , for your head and the general agony in your body. Second, water by the fucking gallon and something to eat. Third… You look at your right thigh, where the long cut from the crowbar is oozing grey slime again, a giant hematoma already blooming around the area. It's not that deep, but pretty long and apparently the sewage had not been the cleanest either. You don’t want to imagine what would have happened if the mad drifter had actually managed to land a real hit with that crowbar ( _his name was Cliff and it’s your fault, too, that he died!)_. Yeah, Flug had to disinfect and stitch that one. But what the hell are you supposed to tell him where you even got it from without him finding out that you removed his tracker and went outside?! Sucking on your lip, and immediately regretting it, you come to the conclusion that you’re going to have to tell Flug about what happened with Blackhat in order to _not_ get re-chipped and probably ankle-monitored. The conspicuous burn wound on your shoulder and the worst of the more obvious bruises can be concealed with one of the dress shirts in your closet. Flug had seen your upper body already when he treated the branding on your back, so he probably won’t think anything out of the ordinary when your legs are equally fucked up. You just had to make sure he wouldn’t see the wound where you extracted the tracker, which reminds you to put that back on your body in case he scanned you for its functionality, and best to hide it at it’s original spot between your neck and shoulder, under another layer of gauze.

 _Good plan, looks like my brain isn’t all that fried after all,_ you think, sighing tiredly. It’s becoming more and more evident that you didn’t get a whole lot of sleep, despite the late hour. And you still have no idea when you’re supposed to meet up with Void but Blackhat did say _tonight_. Flug might be able to enlighten you further, he had promised you special gear for that heist after all, and he had been in charge with designing a plan of attack. Should you _tell_ him about the damn pact as well? Maybe he knew a way to get out of it or at least have something that might make it...  _easier_ in case Blackhat felt the itch to have some more access to your body again the next days. You shiver at the thought of _not_ being drunk while having sex with him, but you also don’t want to end up as an alcoholic just because of that! It really shouldn't surprise you anymore, but you had no clue in the world how you still managed to get yourself deeper and deeper into this mess. You ban the thoughts into the back of your mind and start to get dressed for the undoubtedly embarrassing talk with the overworked genius.

 

-

 

In a place dark, darker but not yet darker, Wingdings Gaster is smiling in content satisfaction, watching the timeline he chose to manipulate. He definitely seemed to have backed the right horse _this_ time with you. Slowly but surely, things were moving into the right direction, pieces were falling into the right places, and soon he would be something else, freed from this limited reality, this prison. What were a few more weeks or months to him who would become a God, no, mightier than a God?! Time and space didn't matter to him anymore already anyway. The pawns were moving, the board set with traps. And he would just have to sit back, watch, and win. _How lovely! How exciting!_ Oh, he just couldn’t wait!

 

-

 

    “Hey Flug, can- can I bother you for a sec?”

Flug, tinkering with something on a workbench that looks like a pair of gloves, sighs but nods.

    “Of course, just make it quick, I’m still working on the last preparations for your heist tonight.”

You wring your hands and clear your throat, fighting desperately against the mind-crushing headache to put your thoughts into words that wouldn’t blatantly out your little accident right away.

    “So, in theory… in the event that someone were to-“ – “Oh God,” Flug groans, now lowering his tools and turning around to you, frowning, “ _what_ did you do?!”

    “Nothing!” you quickly protest, panicking, but when he shoots you a pointed glare from behind his goggles and silently takes the remote for the hatbots out of his coat pocket, you drop your defenses and slump, rubbing the back of your pounding head. “Okay, I, oof… I may have… done something… bad? With… the boss?” Flug runs a rubber glove over his paper bag with an annoyed huff.

    “Ugh, great. I was hoping you were smarter than this, but apparently I overestimated you. Come on.” Before you even have time to rack your brain about how in the world he immediately knows what you did, he has turned away and walks briskly towards the exit of the lab and into the hall leading down to the other closed doors you had seen on your first day. One of them slides open with a bleep. “In here. Get behind the screen, please.” It sounds like he’s done this particular spiel before, which makes you feel a little better actually. Apparently you hadn’t been the only idiot to get to experience _that_ delightful facet of Blackhat. There’s something else you feel, something irritating about that thought, but before you can acknowledge or analyze this feeling in any way, Flug activates the screen you’re standing behind, typing on a computer in front of him while you hold your breath.

    “W-what are you looking for?” you chance to ask, already afraid he might actually find something you’re not going to like.

    “Eggs. They-“

    “THAT IS AN ACTUAL THING HE DOES!?” you scream out, making Flug flinch at his console and clutch his chest.

    “Stop that! Geez! Giving me a heart attack… Y- Yes, if Lord Blackhat deems someone worthy to be a suited surrogate for his spawn, he may lay some eggs inside them. Those things are extremely fragile and-“

    “Filled with acid, I know! Fuck, I thought he was joking?! What- what kind of _spawn_ are we talking about? Mini-Blackhats? Just hats? Cronenberg monsters? Come on doc, I’m losing my mind!”

    “Well, you only have yourself to blame there!” he snaps back, huffing out a breath of relief when the scanner gives off a positive sounding bloop. “They can have various shapes, depending on the DNA of the surrogate, but they’re usually not sentient and just cause a ton of destruction and chaos wherever they get birthed. Afterwards they die, most of the times in a violent explosion. Fortunately, you don’t carry any. But I’ll administer you a special mix of vaccinations and anti-toxins, just in case. “

Flug turns to an emergency kit on the wall, slipping on a fresh pair of medical gloves over the usual yellow pair of heavy-duty rubber before taking out an empty, sealed syringe, a thick needle and a dark vial from another, double-locked container with multiple biohazard warnings and other, equally disturbing warning signs. You look around and eventually just sink down on the only chair in the room, bouncing your foot in nervousness. Your fingers twitch on your thigh, wanting to check if the tracker is still safe and sound under the layer of gauze you wrapped it in, hoping desperately that the mad scientist won’t notice. Yet when he gestures for you to lie down on the examination couch to the side of the scanner and pull down your pants, you relax a little and follow his instructions, lying face down on the stretcher.

    “What happened to your leg?!” Flug utters in start. For a horrible moment the word “crowbar” wants to come out of your mouth but then you pull yourself together and shrug, shaking your head where it's resting on your crossed arms, your burnt shoulder protesting sharply.

    “No fucking idea. The boss told me to get it fixed, didn’t tell me what happened.” That elicits an understanding hum from Flug, like yeah, that made perfect sense. You clench your teeth when the needle pierces the muscles of your glute, and hiss out when he empties the syringe into it. “Ow.”

    “You will probably be okay with just one dose. But I’ll need to monitor your vitals frequently over the next days to make sure you don't react to any of the compounds.” Flug explains, pulling the syringe out and sticking a bandage over the prick, making you snort at the image this must be, looking from the sidelines. He works in silence on your cut leg, cleaning and stitching the wound together so quickly you don't even want to know how often he had to do that, as he already bandages your thigh. Then you feel his gloved hand pushing your shirt up and flinch sharply.

    “Don't.” you whisper and his hand stops, hesitating. “Please. It's- it's not a pretty sight, but nothing serious. Just… lots'a bruises and bites. In _various_ places.” The hand is quickly retracted, Flug busying himself with tidying the remains of his tools while you shuffle off the stretcher and pull your pants up. You rub your face in endless relief, hands shaking.

    “Thank you.” You say, honest. “Uh, that- that wasn’t everything, though. Do you have some aspirin? I- I might have-“    

    “Oh good Lo-, did you get _drunk_?!”

You twitch in surprise and terror, nodding slowly, your eyes widening at the, once more, awfully knowing tone in his reproachful voice.

    “Uh, how-“

    “Did you make a deal with him?”

Again you just nod. Flug sighs deeply, dragging a hand over his already crumpled paper bag again. “What kind of deal?”

Now you squirm under his scolding glare, too embarrassed to say it but then you just close your eyes for a second and return his look miserably. He’s already scanned you for _eggs,_ for crying out loud, you hit rock bottom when you admitted you fucked up. Literally.

    “The… I was gonna say ‘friends’ for a second, Christ. Um, the _employees with benefits_ kinda deal?” You expect Flug to yell at you, or do something else befitting for an evil genius surrounded by idiots, but he actually makes a surprised noise, scratching his chin under the bag.

    “Really? That is… unusual, even for Lord Blackhat. And _bad_. For you.”

    “You don’t say.” You mutter, raising your hands. “Look, I know I’m royally _fucked_ , in every meaning of the word. Is there any way out of the deal?!” To your desperation, Flug shakes his head slowly from one side to the other, locking the med kit before coming back over to you, dropping a few white pills into your hand that you immediately pop and chew thoroughly, ignoring both the bitter taste and Flug's shocked wincing. He sighs and shrugs, turning his back on you again to switch off the scanner.

    “The only thing you can hope for is that he grows bored of you after a few times, that’s how it’s always been. Humans bore him easily if there’s nothing new to them.” Something like a bitter huff escapes him before he manages to stifle it and now you cock your head in curiosity, your mouth falling open.

    “Hold on, don’t tell me _you_ -“

Flug wheels around all of a sudden, his eyes behind the dark goggles spitting fire, daring you to finish that sentence. You immediately raise your hands back up in defense, taking a step away from him. But the mad doctor deflates just as quickly, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, giving the slightest of nods. You stare at each other for a moment, something like mutual sympathy passing over the awkward, silent contact. Then the branding on your back flares up in blinding pain, making you double over, holding your side.

_Get up here this instant!_

    “He’s calling you. You should hurry or he’s going to fold you at least ten times. In _every_ meaning of the word.” Flug comments, already hurrying out of the lab to not get influenced by Blackhat’s wrath as well. You throw an angry glare at his leaving back and stand up straight, letting the pain burn, getting more used to the feeling to be able to ignore it next time. _What does he want now?_ You wonder, quickly leaving the lab area and taking the elevator up to the second floor of the manor. A grim, cynical smirk manages to curl your lips when the door opens and you look at the huge, dark entrance to the office at the other end of the hall. _Finally done with his temper tantrum after I smacked the literal evil out of him?_

You still don’t know what the hell had happened when he was touching your SOUL, but the simple fact that you had done _something_ that was able to hurt him so obviously gave you hope, intrigued you to find out how you could use it _actively_ to keep that bastard off your back in the future. You know that the deal was binding and ironclad in his eyes, or, well, _eye_ , even though you had been inebriated and thus not able or accountable to make a valid contract. Technically he had raped you, and would continue to do so because of that fucking deal. If you went against the contract, he would punish you with more pain and unimaginable horrors, simple as that.

    “But… what if it hurt _him_ too badly to even try it?” you whisper, a plan forming in your head that would require a lot of energy and effort to put into reality. Suddenly you wish Wingdings was still around to tell you more about how SOULs worked.

... or Frisk…

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"I Woke Up Like This"

 

*tanked - Victorian age word for being drunk

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previous Paperhat confirmed laddies! Flug done banged the boss looong before you showed up, that man has seen it all - Be-LIEVE it!! xDD and, wowsers, you must be something darn special if Blackhat let you stay in his room oh my~
> 
>  
> 
> **Next update on the 1st of November!!**


	26. Go Fuck Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween my lovely readers!!! While I didn't have time to write a spooky special chapter, there's a surprise for yall down at the end of this regular spooky chapter ♥

_It stays quiet behind the door. Then a piece of paper gets pushed out and you recognize it as a business card. Something is scrawled on the back, the letters randomly capitalized but it looks like it's spelling out:_

 

### 26\. Go Fuck Yourself

 

 

When you enter the office, something promptly comes flying right at you and your reflexes kick in on their own, your hand quickly pulling the heavy door back towards your body. The Bowie knife slams so hard into the wood that the impact makes your shoulder jump in its socket, the tip of the blade coming out on the other side, an inch away from your chest. The flood of adrenaline slaps you wide awake, your pain instantly forgotten as you stare in disbelief at the pierced door that would have been a pierced you if you had been any slower. But then you throw it open and storm inside, kicking the door shut behind you with your bare foot. Your tabis had been smelling too disgusting to even consider putting them on and were currently taking a lovely soak in the bathtub.

Blackhat is standing in front of his desk, fully dressed down to the galoshes, both hands curled into tight fists, teeth bared in seething anger. Just like any other day. You give him a long look, one eyebrow arched, before turning around and yanking the knife out of the door.

    “I was _wondering_ where this ended up in all this!” You say cheerily, twirling it over your hand and securing it in the sheath on the back of your sports bra as you spin back towards him with the most obnoxious smile you are able to pull off, watching in glee how his expression reaches yet a new level of _murderous_ , and blink innocently at him. “Are you alright, sir?” If that wasn’t the perfect icing on the biggest cake of “Go Fuck Yourself" you don’t know what was. Blackhat’s lips furl back even more in response to your sass.

    “Alright? _ALRIGHT_?!” He roars, his body stretching and growing with horrible cracking noises until his top hat almost touches the high ceiling, blocking out the light from the single window so that you can clearly see the red glow in his one blazing eyeball. A giant, black claw slams down into the ground right next to you and cuts off your only escape route through the door. To make matters worse you jump away from the massive hand and right into the other one that immediately wraps around your body, threatening to squeeze the literal life out of you. Once again, he's going to make you eat your own words and you ignored every warning sign down the road, as Flug’s nasal, reprimanding voice comments in your mind. Yeah, you really only had yourself to blame here.

    “Okay, okay, I’m sorry- I’m _sorry_!” You wheeze out, strained, squirming in the crushing hold Blackhat has on you, stars exploding before your eyes. He lifts you up to his gargantuan face, each tooth as big as you and glistening with toxic green saliva.

    “ ** _You will be!_** ” he snarls, the volume of his voice so loud it feels like your organs are being ripped apart by the vibrations and you lose consciousness for a second before you’re dropped ungently onto the floor out of four meters height, your right foot taking the fall and breaking with an audible snap, twisted in a very wrong angle. The pain is bad enough to make you scream out in shock and agony, writhing on the carpet. Blackhat shrinks back to normal size, watching you suffer with a satisfied, sadistic grin.

"Mh…” he hums, chuckling maliciously and bending down to you, “you do make the most pleasant sounds my dear. That was for _vandalizing_ my portrait in the lounge and diminishing _my_ liquor storage. And this:” he takes a swift step forward and slams the heel of his polished dress shoe right on your broken ankle before you can dodge, his next words getting nearly drowned out in your piercing cries as the sad rest of your bones gets grinded into a bloody paste. “This is for _misbehaving_ once again. Now I do hope you will remember all that despite your hangover…” He glares at you, expectantly, frowning once more when you just keep screaming, but then you manage to pull yourself together for a second before he can decide to maim you any more, panting through clenched teeth, your vision blinded by tears, pain raging through your nerves.

    “I will!” you press out with a clipped groan, clenching your fist against the pain. “I got it, boss! Fuck-" you cry out again, sob and mewl when the pain just won't stop, already thinking about begging Blackhat to just end you, when he waves his hand around and a cold, pleasant feeling spreads through your leg, the agony instantly gone, leaving only a bitter aftertaste. Your foot is in the right place again, the bones restored, yet you still only move it around carefully, afraid a wrong twist or a little too much pressure might break it all over again. Your fresh clothes are already drenched in sweat, hair sticking to your forehead. You lift your head and meet Blackhat's sharp glare.

“It won’t happen again. _Lord_ Blackhat.” You hiss, unable to keep the spite and anger out of your voice, the impotent fury of not having the power to fight back against the barbed leash of pain and horror he has put on you. Which he is very, very much aware of, judging by his wide, challenging grin as he summons his black cane to hook it around your neck and pull you up to your feet until you're only an inch away from his face.

    “That's a good little thief. You deserve a reward for such obedience, don’t you?” Before you can spit anything vile back, preferably a mouth full of spit, the pupil of his single eye dilates for the fraction of a second, and then you nod quickly, _desperately_. Yes, holy shit you wanted that _reward_ , you wanted that reward so badly, right here, right now! You couldn’t take it any longer, couldn’t wait; these stupid clothes were in the way, the desk too far away - oh fuck the damn desk, the floor was fine for all you cared-

A moan escapes your throat when Blackhat yanks you against his body, your leg hooking itself over his thigh and your hands fly up to his chest, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, feeling nothing but bliss and raw, all-consuming _lust_ when he actually kisses you, but then he parts from you again and you stop, confused, as the overwhelming desire disappears like it had never been there. Instead you shove him away, stumbling back yourself with a disbelieving gape, feeling your face grow hot from shame, disgust and embarrassment.

    “That's how you did it?!” you whisper, appalled, looking down your form like you can’t believe your own body would betray you like this so easily. “You just… hypnotize me a little and-"

When you look back up, Blackhat is grinning widely again, crossing his hands on his back.

    “You should feel flattered that I even bother to go to such lengths just for you.” He replies, bringing one gloved hand back around to his chest, balling it into a fist, his face almost splitting apart from the huge, manic grin. “And not just _take_ , while you still have your sane mind about you. Say, wouldn’t you prefer to feel this way permanently?” You recoil from him, viciously shaking your head. Blackhat uncurls his hand and reaches it towards you in an offering gesture. “It would make this little bargain we struck a lot easier for you, don’t you think? To not feel all this shame and loathing every time I don’t cast this spell on you? Why would you suffer through that willingly?” his voice has taken on a gentle, commiserative tone but you turn your eyes away from his intense gaze, digging your nails into the palms of your hand.

    “Because it means I’m still me, still with a will of my own and not just your puppet! I’d rather feel all the hatred and shame I can than being reduced to _this_! And,” you look back to him, grinning crookedly yourself now, “the fact that you're trying to get me to take that offer, only tells me that you can’t manipulate me for longer unless I allow it! So, no deal, Blackhat! No more fucking deals!”

    “Wrong.” He just deadpans. You take a sharp breath to launch into an entirely new tirade, when your boss already elaborates: “I can very well manipulate you like that however long I want to; your _consent_ is not required in any way, my _pet_. But I, too, would much more prefer to have you suffer and feel miserable under my hands!” While he spits the words out the green saliva is downright spilling over his lips and down his chin and the expression he wears is one of bloodlust and hunger, something so vile you briefly play with the thought of blacking out again.

    “About that… spell or whatever this is.” You start and fight the urge to tremble when his grin slowly but fiercely returns, somehow managing the slightest amount of sarcasm despite your state. “Did you do the same to Dementia? Seems like you’re not really enjoying all that _affection_ too much.”

Blackhat abruptly scrunches the area around his mouth in obvious distaste, turning away from you to walk back to his desk, bored now that you spurned another diabolical deal along with a spicy new source of entertainment for him.

    “Trust me, I did _not_. That is all her. And _that_ is all thanks to Flug's incompetence!” he grinds out, folding his hands on his back. You raise both eyebrows at that, your suspicion pretty much confirmed at this point.

    “Flug _created_ Dementia as well? Not just 5.0.5?”

A gloved index raises itself into the air, pausing your hasty assumptions.

    “ _Altered_ her, don't give the good doctor too much credit now. Dementia only keeps working for me because she makes for an exceptional hitman and security guard. Plus, her affection, as you call it, is a bothersome but quite useful trait I can use to manipulate her chaotic nature to my organization’s benefit. Do you have any idea how much money those villains are willing to pay, to have my love-sick lizard-abomination kill the heroes that pester them?”

You shrug, clueless. Blackhat, having turned back around to you, raises both hands with an insane grin, slobber running over his chin once more. “Neither do I, since I put Flug in charge of that side of the business as well, but it's a _lot_!” he rasps out with a hoarse laugh. “She's so good at what she does, I could charge those morons anything and they’d cough it up! Now, _you_ on the other hand…” his gaze darkens again, focusing on you and scanning your frame with visible irritation. “You still have to prove if you’re even worth the air you use up being alive. But, you made a start.” Suddenly he tosses something your way and you struggle to catch it in time for a moment, glancing down at the heavy envelope.

“The loot you brought back was at least worth _something_. I took the liberty to already cut off my share, seeing as you're still working for _my_ organization. You can exchange it for Hatcoins, of course. The money you made should at least be worth… a hundred or so, I really don’t know or care.”

You look up in shock from counting the dollar bills.

    “What?! There's at least a million bucks in here, what the hell kind of ridiculous trading rate _is_ that?!”

    “The kind that earns me a bloody boatload of money.” Blackhat deadpans. You just blink and then pocket the money in your sports bra, unable to argue against that logic.

    “So… who was Dementia before she got altered? Where did she come from?” you ask instead, not willing to get off topic. “She doesn't remember her previous life, so was she always this crazy or did you make her lose her mind? Is she even here willingly?!”

Your boss begins to chuckle, working himself up to a raucous laughing fit that makes your skin itch with unease. When he has caught himself again, you swallow at the unbridled glee in his single eyeball.

    “Aah, truly a very ironic tale yet one of my favorites. I might tell it to you when you earned your stripes, little thief. But now, if you're not up for some more torture I’d advice you get the hell out of here! Go bother someone else.” He snaps, shooing you away with a gloved hand like you’re an especially annoying fly. You roll your eyes at him but hurry to vacate the office, indeed not up for some more torture.

    “Like _I_ came here voluntarily.” You grumble on your way to the door, jumping in start when sharp claws wrap around your throat from behind you, almost piercing the skin there.

    “I heard that!” Blackhat warns you with an audible grin, choking you briefly. You twist your head around against his grip and make a mock surprised face.

    “Nooo, really?! Woah are you, like, a superhe-" before the word can actually cross your lips, and get you proper killed, you catch yourself: “err… super-hearing, earless bat or something?” _Wow. That was lame. Maybe I should take classes from Dementia._ Blackhat's annoyed expression says that, yes, you really should, but fortunately he lets go off you and just shoves you through the door, closing it behind you with a slam.

You sigh heavily in relief, glad to be off the hook for now and free to finally get something to eat and cure your hangover in peace before tonight. Suddenly you really want to go see 5.0.5! Now _he_ would not only love to coddle you, hurting and miserable as you were, and make you something delicious to eat, noooo, he would also _hug_ you and treat you _nicely_! The thought of getting some actual, honest kindness around here is so powerful you’re choking up a little and quickly swallow the soppy tears on your way to the elevator. Which opens with a ding before you have even pressed a button, revealing an excited looking Dementia.

All blood leaves your body. Your stomach drops like it's been severed from the rest of your organs, the entire weight from the consequences of what you had done while being drunk dropping on you like a ton of bricks.

_Oh. Fuck. Me!_

    “Heya ______!” she chimes, ignorant to your visible terror and simply bumps you out of the way with her shoulder, fluffing her hair and giggling flirtatiously. “Now move, Blackhat wants to see _me_! Do you think he's finally going to propose to me?!” Manic, delusional yellow eyes bore into yours, and you wonder how they haven’t taken on the shape of hearts by now, before you manage the tiniest, shakiest of nods. God, she had to smell the guilt and fear on you, lizards were kind of like snakes and they had pretty good smell, too, right?!

    “Sure, uh, w- why wouldn’t he?” you mumble, slowly walking backwards into the elevator, your eyes still on her. Your trembling hand lifts, feeling for the button to the ground floor. When you don’t find it immediately, you briefly glance down. With a loud slam Dementia's hand forces the closing door back open, her narrowed eyes piercing you suddenly. You recoil from her, your back hitting the wall of the cage so hard you feel every single bruise individually, even the ones on your ass. Flug was a true sport here for not commenting on _those_ earlier.

But now you have a real problem and it's baring sharp canines at you! And _you_ have nothing to aid you except for the knife hidden under your shirt; your gear belt is back in your room with the rest of your clothes from last night, soaking in the tub along with your shoes to get out the stench of sewer, alcohol and _Blackhat_!

    “You…” Dementia hisses under her breath, reaching out her other hand to grab your shirt and peel you off the wall, her face slowly drawing closer and closer until it's right next to your neck. You hear her smelling you, first in short sniffs and then a long drag all the way down to her lungs, her tongue tasting the air around you like that of a snake. Immediately, her fist curls tighter around the fabric of your shirt, the faux leather of her fingerless glove crunching.

“Why the fuck do you smell like him?! And why, the _fuck_ , do I have the suspicion it's not from one of those bath grenades?! What are you hiding?!” Now you hear the suppressed growl in her chest, too, the warning rumble of a crocodile right before it snaps off your leg. You have no chance against her, you realize with finality, not even with your knives, shit, not even with every artillery strike in the world!

You take a timid breath, your brain working frantically against the headache and fear trying to make you panic.

    “Okay, I’ll tell you…” you whisper, spinning the words along in your mind to cast a net of believable lies and schemes. This was just like that time Papyrus had caught you sneaking back in after one of your nightly trips to the library before Sans had given you his permission to just go out and have fun as long as you brought him back his share. Back then, you had used the same method of telling him something that was true and something that wasn't. You open your eyes and look pleadingly into Dementia's, wrapping your hands around the wrist of her fist that’s still balled under your chin. "But _please_ , promise me not to tell Flug?”

That throws Dementia off her rhythm so much that she blinks at you in surprise, cocking a brow.

    “Flug? What-“ – “Promise me, Dementia! Not a word to him or who knows what he's gonna do to me next!” you insist, stumbling when she drags you out of the elevator and shoves you into the corridor wall, but now she is snorting with laughter which is already better.

    “Oh come on, it's just Flug!” she cackles. You huff an angry breath and raise your hands.

    “Yeah, easy for _you_ to say maybe! He's scared of you! But me? I’m wimpy, remember? I’d make the perfect Guinea pig for his sick inventions if he finds out I-, look, just promise me you won’t tell him?!” Dementia's glare darkens once more and she pokes a hard finger into your chest.

    “First you tell me why you have _my_ hubby’s smell all over you…” the rest is an unspoken threat she doesn’t need to put into words and you nod quickly.

    “Oh yeah, sure. Well, the boss just strangled me for like ten minutes because I vandalized one of his portraits after getting drunk last night!” you croak out, pointing at the angry marks of fingers around your neck you discovered back in your room. “I passed out after the first five minutes, so I don’t know what he did then.” And bam, there was the lie that was hopefully enough to veil the entire gravitas of what had really happened. You just hope that Blackhat would not straight up _tell_ Dementia what had actually taken place just to get her to beat you into a bloody pulp for a) sleeping with the man of her dreams and b) lying to her about it!

But for now it seems to be working. Dementia shoots you a jealous glare yet lets go off you all the same, blowing the bright red bangs out of her eyes.

    “Aww man, lucky you… I sometimes wish _I'd_ fuck up that badly to get him to do _that_ to me!” She grouses and you can’t help but grin sardonically.

    “Yeah, it's a _talent_. Look, do you wanna know what happened or not?!” She nods quickly, holding her pinky finger up.

    “Sure, ya, I promise not to tell Flug!” You hook your pinky around hers with a serious nod, before you grin widely at her, letting the pleasant memories of the clear sky and the freedom of roaming the streets at night fuel you.

    “I snuck out last night! And I broke into a jewelry store and stole all kinds of shit! It was awesome!” Yet instead of an amazed gasp or any other expression of scandalized delight you expected from someone who only got out of her cage for official business, Dementia just snorts again and shrugs.

    “Is that all?! Dude, I do that every other day without Flug knowing! That's your big secret? You don't even have an ankle monitor on you, you can basically just walk out the front door! Man, the only thing I envy you for is Blackhat choking you long enough to leave his amazing scent on you! But hey, good job, let's sneak out together next time, yeah? We can go steal a car and beat a bunch of people up!” While she's talking, Dementia is already jogging down the hallway to Blackhat's office, waving at you until she's through the heavy door.

Your disbelieving expression immediately drops into a snarl and you slam your hand onto the elevator button in anger, yelping when a sharp sting shoots through your left wrist. The closing door thankfully drowns out your incessant string of raw curses that continues all the way to the ground floor and the door of the kitchen. But before you gently push it open, you swallow the rest of all the swears you know, not wanting to expose 5.0.5 to them. And, as expected, the second the door swings open you are enveloped in the most delicious smells of cake, cookies, pancakes and everything nice. It's like an entirely different world compared to the horror-show outside. Yup, probably best for your mental and physical wellbeing to stay here the rest of the day until work calls.

With a soft, almost serene smile on your lips, one that only Frisk would recognize, you quietly close the door behind you and spot 5.0.5 at the other end of the kitchen, emitting happy growling noises as if he's trying to sing a song, giant oven mitts covering his big blue paws so that he can safely take the steaming pie out of the oven.

    “Morning, bud.” You call out to him, snickering when his round ears twitch in response, but he's still busy with the pie so you hop onto one of the bar stools on the other side of the counter and lean back with your elbows propped on the marble worktop behind you, watching the bear. The pounding in your forehead has lessened to a dull throbbing, which means Flug gave you actual aspirin and not some other new remedy he invented himself and that would react in God knows what way when you weren’t dehydrated for 24 hours or something stupid like that. Somehow you doubt that his inventions and experiments were really that successful which would explain why the villains kept buying more of them to finally, someday succeed. Well, 5.0.5 was his crowning achievement, at least in your opinion.

Suddenly the door to the kitchen is thrown open and slammed shut again before you have fully turned around, one of the serrated steak knives from the silver ware drawer already in your hand. The kitchen anterior looks empty, but then you spot the crooked edge of a battered top hat with patches behind the counter. Hectic, wheezing breaths come from below the top hat, as if the someone had been running for their life. You silently kneel on the stool and brace yourself on the counter separating you from the intruder, carefully peeking over it, the knife raised to throw it.

The… _person_ leaning against the door is the size of a child, frail, and wearing clothes similar to those of Lord Blackhat, but looking more like secondhand rags and randomly thrown together to resemble the rough idea of Blackhat. They look more like a bum version of your posh boss, and you begin to understand, when they lift their head and you stare into the face of the derpiest version of Blackhat you could not have imagined yourself! The little guy is even wearing a magnifying glass over his left eye instead of a monocle. So he must be the other _manifestation_ Flug's machine created, like Gigantos in the dungeon.

    “Hey there lil guy. Going somewhere?” you greet him and grin mischievously, crossing your arms on the counter and tapping the tip of the knife against the marble in a quick rhythm. At least this one doesn’t look like it's able to straight up rip you to shreds like Gigantos. Or the boss himself. He actually looks like the perfect punching bag for your frustrated ego. The derpy Blackhat garbles something unintelligible and tries to flee out the door but you’re quicker and shut it with one hand while the tiny guy yanks on the door knob with both hands and his feet planted against the wall. He looks ridiculous! Instead of perfectly fitted gloves he's wearing a pair of badly knitted, woolen mitts with some of the fingertips torn off, a red tweet vest and a mismatched pair of slippers over two different kinds of socks. His black coat is more a black jacket with patches on the frayed elbows, and the top hat… just looks downright self made. Badly. You wonder who in the blazes could have manifested _that_ from their most evil thoughts!

The strange little man stops pulling on the door and jumps down, waving his noodle arms about, blathering in outrage, his tongue spraying drool at you with every other word he tries to pronounce. He seems to be getting more and more worked up the longer you’re keeping him from leaving and at one point he just pulls the top hat all the way over his face and stomps his slippers on the tiled floor in frustration, one of them emitting a squeak like a chewing toy for dogs, and you flinch in surprise.

 _What's gotten the lil fella so riled up?_ You think, confused, and watch him hide inside the broom closet in the far end corner. 5.0.5 trots over and utters a pitying noise, wringing his paws and shooting you a nervous look. Nodding towards the closet, you ask: “Do you know why he's so upset, bud?” 5.0.5 nods. _Okay, this is gonna be tricky with only yes or no questions_. “Is it… because of Blackhat?” A shake of the bear-head. “Flug?” Shake. “Me?!” Double shake and a pat on your back. _Aww!_ “Dementia?” 5.0.5 quickly nods, so hard his flower bops back and forth on his head and brushes the blue fur. You widen your eyes at the reaction, glancing back to the closet where the stupid version of Blackhat chatters quietly but still audible enough to immediately find him.

“Is he trying to hide from her?” – “Baow!”

Mulling this over and cross-referencing it with everything else you know, and especially after your most recent encounter, you begin to understand.

    “Oooh, ew, is she- does she use him as a stand-in for the _real_ Blackhat?! Since she can’t get him to love her back?!” you ask away, already feeling bad for the manifestation who didn’t ask to exist in the first place and on top of that get chased around by a lovesick, frustrated, horny lizard-psychopath who wants to use him as some sort of Blackhat-doll and doesn’t actually love him for who he is. Then again, those are your own assumptions and it could be an entirely different story. 5.0.5 nods again with a concerned growl, apparently feeling the same way. You return the nod with a serious expression, put the knife back into the drawer, and walk up to the closet. Knocking softly on the door, you get a negating garble as answer.

    “Hey, uh… you might want to keep it down in there, alright? I’m not going to tell Dementia you’re here, don't worry. You got a name? I'm ______.”

It stays quiet behind the door and you already fear he may have died from a heart attack, but then a piece of paper gets pushed out from under the door and you recognize it as a business card from the BHO. Something is scrawled on the back in red crayon, the letters randomly capitalized and turned upside down but if you look closely it looks like it's spelling out:

    “E- _Earl_? That your name, lil guy? Earl?”

Earl garbles in approval and 5.0.5 _baow_ s merrily, obviously happy that you’re trying to get along with him. Which also lifts your mood significantly. “Are you hungry, Earl? I wanted to ask 5.0.5 if he could make me some pancakes anyway. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind making a few more.” There's three seconds of contemplative silence before the door to the broom closet opens with a creak and Earl blinks derpily at you, the pupil behind his magnifying glass insanely… magnified. God he looks so silly! How in the hell had Blackhat not killed this walking caricature of himself yet?! Gigantos was one thing because he was a scary, murderous monster that had to be locked up but this was whack!

   “Ginayhuv… snannich?” Earl sputters and you frown a little, trying to understand the gibberish. But 5.0.5 coos his agreement and already wanders off, pulling cheese and ham out of the fridge, along with mayo, tomatoes and a bag of bread. You chuckle.

    “Sandwich. Duh-doy! Well, our bud is already making it, so, yeah, sure you can have a _snannich_ , Earl.”

 

-

 

As stupid as Earl might seem at first glance, and second… and third, he is one hell of a poker player. After the tenth lost round, out of ten, you smack your measly pair of sevens on the counter, groaning at the flush he somehow got again!

    “I give up…” you sigh and rub your face, licking at a corner of your mouth where there's still honey from the pancakes sticking to it. "I can’t beat you… Curses.” Earl blabbers in smug content, wagging a gloveless finger at you, spitting around the consonants. You wipe some of the spray off your face, chuckling. “Yeah, yeah, shut up, I know you warned me.” Then you reach out your hand over the counter. “Well played, little man.”

Earl grabs your hand with a haughty, derpy smile, his tongue sticking out on one side, and shakes it viciously with both hands. Doing so, a bunch of cards promptly tumble out his sleeves. You stare at the cards, then back up at Earl, down and up, your brows furrowing while your hand traps his in a tight clutch when he tries to quickly pull away. Your free hand shoots forward and grabs his tweet vest, yanking him halfway over the counter.

    “You know Earl… I would _definitely_ beat you up right now if I weren’t so impressed by those sleights of hand.” You growl at him and he laughs nervously, caught, beads of sweat running over his ashen face. 5.0.5 makes a pleading noise to please not fight in the kitchen but you already let the little cheat go, snickering yourself. “I knew there was no way you could get two royal flush in a row! How did you get so good at it? I didn’t even notice that!” Instead of an actual answer, Earl just points to his wobbling, patched up top hat. Plain enough, you guess and utter an understanding hum. Still, you’re more than surprised that Blackhat not only allows Earl to continue drawing breath but on top of that teaches him con-artist traits. And solid ones, too!

You glance at the tactical watch you took from the electronics store, the display revealing that it's already three in the afternoon, making you wonder just how long you slept it off for and still be this exhausted, and how the hell Blackhat had endured all that _horrendous snoring_ (you're still absolutely scandalized about that) when he didn't actually sleep himself! It's strange that he let you stay in his room anyway, the hidden, mysterious master bedroom without any entrance, when he could have just dropped you off at your room and not have to deal with any of that, and you seriously doubt that he would let you stay just because he wanted to shock you with the news. Although… maybe that had been a reason, apart from him trying to touch your SOUL again, considering how absolutely delighted he had been to see your reaction. Oh God… had he watched you sleep? Probably, reading the newspaper can only entertain one for so long.

You groan at the sickness spreading through your stomach, cold sweat covering your forehead in a flash. Nope, you're still not used to the thought of having to repeat that, and you won't be in the foreseeable future, no way!

* * *

 

 

 

Thank you guys so much for over 2600 hits, 20 bookmarks and 145 kudos I'm so happy you're all here and enjoy this ride!!!  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys go see the Hazbin Hotel pilot omfg it's amazing!!! Alastor is definitely gonna have a special cameo in this story!!!
> 
> I'll be gone for a week-long advanced education program in Berlin, so **Next update on the 10th of November**


	27. I Come With Knives

_You don’t know what compels you to do it. Maybe it’s the fact that he just received a vicious kick to the balls. Or maybe it’s the fact that Void apparently came from the same place you did._

 

 

### 27\. I Come With Knives

  
  
  


Hours later, you are finally rid of both the headache and sickness from downing two bottles of high grade liquor, and more importantly from waking up next to your eldritch boss, but now you're back in Flug's lab and try to ignore the probing stare Void is giving you, while Flug rambles on and on about the amazing functions of the tools he built for you for this mission. One of your hands fiddles with the red, crystalline knives Blackhat had let you keep and that you immediately integrated into your old gear belt after leaving the kitchen. At first you hadn’t been sure if you should bring the belt at all, since you told Flug it had gone missing when you found yourself here, but then you realized Lord Blackhat himself had conjured it up from the depths of the void without you even asking him to, so you were basically entitled to flounce it about. But the head scientist of the BHO hadn’t even noticed it up to now, he was way too excited to finally unveil his new inventions specifically built for this first heist of yours.

    “And with this final button…” Flug jerks you out of your retrospection, demonstrating yet another function of the special pair of gloves you saw him tinkering on this morning. “You activate the integrated plasma-cutter that can even burn through bulletproof glass! But… be careful when you use it, it- there is the slight chance it might… well, not _explode_ , but incinerate the glove- oh, I’m sure you’re gonna be fine!” He waves you off with a nervous laughter and you roll your eyes when he’s not looking. _Great._ It’s not like you expected his gadgets to be 100 percent safe, considering his other semi-failures, but now that there’s the possibility of setting yourself on fire, you’re probably only going to use them in the most extreme of emergency situations. Which you hope won’t even occur, considering who your backup is and what else you’re bringing to the party.

    “Got it, doc.” You say and reluctantly slip your hands into the gloves, immediately not liking the chunkiness to them. With all those fancy functions “hidden” inside them, they make your hands look like you’re about to punch a few teeth out and not meddle with delicate, armed locks and security devices. Flug nods proudly and crosses his arms behind his back, directing his attention to Void now.

    “I trust that you are all set? Good; here is the key for the hat-ship. Do _not_ get a single scratch on it.” He adds and jerks the flat, black disk back again before Void can grab it. The super-villain nods quickly but you see the goosebumps on his bare upper arms. He’s wearing the same clothes when you first met him, and you suddenly realize that the purple vest with the golden ornaments is his villain getup. _Oh_. _Well, Mawrasite looked much more like an actual villain_ , you think, _and Dark Phantom as well, as gross as he might be_. Not exactly an outfit that was going to strike fear into the hearts of men.

    “Of course not.” Void mumbles and takes the strange key from Flug, who tents his fingers in front of him.

    “I will stay in touch with you over the ship’s main computer, but once the mission is a go, you’re on your own. If you don’t return to the hat-ship within the set time-limit it will fly back to the mansion on its own and you will be stranded, if you’re not dead already. So, don’t take too much of a detour through the museum.” He laughs nasally at his own joke and you manage a very, very tired chuckle. Your entire body still feels terribly sore, beaten, bruised and exhausted, and not even 5.0.5’s love and care had done much to change that. You just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible and not fail miserably for your own sake.

Void nods, entirely overlooking the lame pun and turns towards the exit of the lab, forcing you to hurry after him. Once the door slides shut behind the two of you, he turns to the right, to where the corridor leads down into the dungeon and finally into the dark labyrinth of tunnels you had first seen when you released Dementia from her cell. But apparently there were a whole lot more hallways leading away under the mansion. Thinking about all the dark houses you saw around the manor, you’re starting to get an idea of the actual dimensions of Blackhat’s lair beneath the surface.

Another metal door slides to the side, flood-lights illuminate the room upon your entrance, and you can’t suppress the groan bursting out of your chest at what you can only assume to be the _hat-_ ship. The underground hangar houses a giant, black top hat built from metal, five meters high and wide, the red hatband the windows of the… UFO. It looks like a UFO. It has fricking thrusters underneath the brim, tiny wings on the top and a fin for stabilization! And, of course, the Black Hat Organization logo on the front with a white background. Somehow that looks a bit jarring on the otherwise black structure. To your side, Void chuckles.

    “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen this yet.” He says in disbelief but you shake your head.

    “I don’t even know why I am still surprised at this point…” you mutter and make a face at the hat-ship. “And we can’t just… teleport to the museum?” You ask, incredulous. Void shakes his head decidedly, already walking up to the ridiculous aircraft.

    “The organization only allows a hand full of members access to their teleportation network to begin with, since more locations increase the risk of getting compromised. Not that it would be a problem for Blackhat himself. It would just cause more overtime for Flug.” He takes another breath like he wants to say something else, but quickly shuts his mouth. You throw him a glance.

    “But you can fly this thing?!” An airplane is one thing, but this monstrosity doesn’t exactly look aerodynamic. At least not to you. Void makes a dismissive noise that doesn’t say either yes or no.

    “Eh. It runs on autopilot. Flug fed the computer the coordinates of a safe area close to the museum where security forces won’t find it. No piloting needed. You could even take a nap if you really wanted.” Then Void shoots you that strange look again, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinizes you. You immediately cross your arms in front of your chest and take a tiny step away from him. Your leather jacket crunches softly with the motion, masking the sound of knives being pulled from their sheaths within the sleeves.

    “What?!” you ask, feeling your own irritation return. “You got a problem with something?” Void doesn’t look intimidated by your confrontation and instead eyes you even closer.

    “What the hell happened to you?” he wants to know. “You look like you got beat up for at least a few hours. Don’t think I didn’t notice it.” You return his gaze with wide opened eyes, your own mouth growing slack and blood rushing into your face at the panicked thought that he might catch on to what exactly had happened to you. But then you catch yourself and scoff, leaning a little more back.

    “Uh that’s, how do I say this without sounding rude… none of your fucking business?!” you hiss at him, earning a deeper frown. At least now he actually looks a little like you’re getting under his skin with the way his arms get a touch of purple glow. Well _boo-hoo_ you weren’t here to become besties, at least not in this life. That spot was reserved for 5.0.5 already!

    “It is. If you’re still recovering from injuries I need to know about them! Our mission could fail because you’re not in top condition! And I won’t let _you_ ruin my only chance to get this artifact! I know, you made it quite clear that you’re, like, a _solo-artist_ _and stuff,_ ” Void parrots you with a voice that makes you briefly want to kill him on the spot even more, “but now you work _for_ Blackhat and under _my_ lead. _You_ are just a new asset he provides for free to get me what _I_ want. Got that?” his tone is cold and arrogant and you bite your lower lip, swallowing your urge to plunge a knife into his throat and the tears of fury that want to well up. Instead, you imagine yourself stabbing Sans’ grinning skull over and over and over until you’re at least composed enough to not do something really stupid.

    “Well fuck you, too, Mr. Professional Supervillain.” You mutter under your breath and evade his piercing glare, stuffing your fists into your pockets. But when he still doesn’t budge, you exhale with another groan and shrug. “Okay, whatever, I have a cut in my right thigh that’s pretty fresh and a pretty burned spot on my right shoulder but it’s nothing! ‘m just a bit stiff is all.”

Now Void nods solemnly, not mentioning the rest of the bruises he must’ve seen on you in the harsh light of the lab earlier.

    “Alright, I’ll try to support your right side then if we run into any trouble. Here, put this in your ear.” Like this whole disaster didn’t just happen, he hands you one of the tiny earpieces Flug had given him during the briefing and you press the little thing into your ear, your hearing immediately feeling weird, and you grimace, what the villain fortunately doesn’t notice since he’s turned around to open the hat-ship with a button on the flat disk. “The channel should be encoded, but only use it when you’re in trouble either way, I don’t want our enemies to pick up any radio-signals before we have secured the artifact, alright?”

    “Whatever you say, chief. Can I take it out until I need it, though? That plug fucks up my equilibrium and my hearing. I don’t like it.” You complain and already dig the transmitter out of your ear-canal, stretching your jaw muscles to get the weird sensation out of it. Void clucks his tongue and walks up the short ramp into the dark ship.

    “You better get used to that, then. But yeah, sure. Just don’t lose it.” You grunt your affirmation back and follow him into the hat-ship. The actual cockpit is behind a small room and a metal door, probably some sort of storage unit. Past it, you can’t help but whistle lowly at the giant console at the front that looks awfully complicated with all its buttons and levers and slide-controls. Along the back wall you spot a row of seats that were undoubtedly once part of a plane’s interior. On one of them you notice a huge, orange… you want to say kiddy seat but the sheer size of it could fit a grown man. That or a blue, genetically modified bear. And just like that, it’s utterly cute again.

Void sinks into the pilot seat and messes with the console, so you walk over to the row of seats behind him and flop down on the hard cushions, wriggling around until you’re somewhat comfortably resting against the frame of 5.0.5’s seat, watching the supervillain start up the ship. The interior lights flicker on with a low hum, making you tense. You had never taken an airplane in your life. Flying was always something you tried to avoid at all costs, considering your old boss - the only authority figure you had ever known except for Wingdings maybe - had frequently threatened you with a bad time of the aerial kind. But before you can express any of your concerns, the hat-ship is fully booted and lifts off, the motion so sudden you have to claw at the cushion beneath you to not freak out. You’re heart is already going a thousand beats a minute, and you haven’t even left the hangar! When the ship shoots up into the night sky at top speed, you do scream after all.

 

-

 

    “Better?” Void asks you. Instead of a real answer, you moan faintly and lean your forehead against the cold outer hull of the hat-ship, wiping your chin with the back of your hand, trying not to get anything onto your jacket.

    “I hope… you tell Blackhat in your review of my services how I managed to keep it together until we touched down.” You mumble with weak humor, taking a deep breath to settle your upset stomach. The panicked sweat on your arms feels cold even with the jacket on. Void snorts behind you and you hear him taking the few steps towards the ledge of the skyscraper the ship landed on. After Flug had wished you good luck after the touch down, you had immediately bolted out of the ship, heaving. Fortunately this time you didn’t waste an entire meal, though.

    “I won’t even mention it. First time flying, huh? You’ll get used to it in no time.” You know he’s trying to cheer you up, which is weird after the confrontation from earlier, and not appreciated coming from someone who gets insulted by not being called a supervillain to begin with, but you shake your irritation off all the same and walk up to where he’s standing close to the edge, observing the city beneath. Your legs are still weak and you force yourself to really feel the solid ground under your still a bit damp tabi-shoes, connect yourself with the hard, unmoving concrete that means safety and a situation you can control.

    “Yeah, hard pass on that. I’ll take that nap when we head back. So, where’s the target?” you change the subject, scanning the glittering city in the night. The fresh wind howling around the flat roof carries the familiar smells of a big town and helps even more than the solid ground to recover. Greedy, you suck it down to your lungs, not caring that you’re not alone this time. Void’s hand points north to where you are. You follow the line of his finger easily, quickly picking out the flat, extensive building illuminated by multiple columns of light. With a bleep Void activates the hologram Flug gave you and rotates the museum’s blueprint until it’s lined up with the structure in the distance. You hum as you examine the plan. “Looks like we won’t even have to take a detour to get to our entry point. Good thinking, doc.” You mumble and nod in agreement. The less running you had to do, the better.

    “At least we can agree on that. I’ll have to circle the building, but you can wait right there until I give you the signal.”

    “Not so fast,” you caution and hold out a hand. “guard routes might have changed, Flug’s scans aren’t from tonight, remember? Could well be they upped security in the meanwhile. Let’s not rush in thinking we know everything already.”

For the first time since you met, Void shoots you an honestly impressed look and nods slowly.

    “Okay! You’re the expert on that area.”

You arch an eyebrow at him.

    “You… never broke into a building? As a villain?!” you blurt out and roll your eyes when he promptly scowls at you. “ _Supervillain_ , sorry. Christ.”

    “Of course I did! But- well, not with stealth. I just… I just totaled the place.” He says and shrugs. You scoff and mutter his words back mockingly so he can’t hear you over the howling wind. Out loud you say: “You might still have to use that special skill in case I can’t get out. Then just bust a big hole into the place, aight?”

    “If that doesn’t already happen during the battle, yeah, sure.” He says and you wheel around to him, stabbing an angry finger into his slim chest.

    “Hey! If I get _squashed_ because you can’t control your fucking powers you won’t be getting shit, Void! If you even smash a single window without me giving the all-clear first I will bail, got it!? I’m not too keen on becoming collateral damage!”

Your anger takes him off-guard this time and he flinches, dropping the hologram projector, his arms glowing with a sudden, deep purple. You catch the expensive tool before it can shatter on the concrete, fixating him with a hard stare. _Would you look at that._ Apparently you’re not the only one who’s new to working in a team. After a few tense seconds in silence Void just nods and turns briskly away to get the helicopter drone Flug instructed you to take as an elevator off the building. You huff, pocket the projector and follow his lead, hooking your arms into the loops dangling from the drone. Your stomach does another unpleasant churn when the little flying robot, shaped like – what else did you expect you fools – a top hat, carries you over the edge of the skyscraper and towards the dark alley below before darting back up and out of sight. You immediately flip up your hood and the white mask materializes over your face. Next to you, the supervillain utters a surprised sound.

    “Woah, what- that’s not one of Flug’s inventions, is it?!” he asks incredulously and you shake your head, flipping the hood back and forth to demonstrate its strange abilities.

    “No, Blackhat gave it to me so I’d keep my face anonymous. I’m starting to think that’s the reason Flug has to wear this stupid paper bag.” You point out and Void snorts humorlessly, giving you an odd look.

    “Makes sense. Lucky you then...”

 

While the route to the museum had looked pretty direct from atop the skyscraper, it actually takes you a bit longer than you’re comfortable with to get there, since the nightly streets aren’t all that abandoned yet and you can’t afford to be spotted by anybody, not even the drunkest hobo and especially not by another villain, mask or not! But after a few harrowing close counters you’re finally staked out right across the street from the museum, pressed into the deep shadows of a small alleyway, looking for guards patrolling the area where your point of entry is located. It’s the back of one of the museum’s side buildings, a loading area with closed, heavy shutter gates lined along the wall. And above them is your entry: the roof windows.

You stay pressed against the wall and let your eyes scan the perimeter over and over. The loading area is only dimly lit by the street lights from the walkway in front of the shut metal gate, bordering the museum grounds off. A small sentry station is partially hidden by the gate and the adjacent fence, and you peer hard into its direction, trying to spot any movement inside. Yet the guard hut looks dark, abandoned. Another long gaze over the loading area, then you nudge Void and already dart from your cover.

    “Let’s go.”

He follows you on the heel, his boots making a lot more noise than you would have liked, but your path still looks clear, so you huddle against the broadest part of the gate and wave at him to get over to you. Without a word you interlock your hands and plant your back against the gate. Void lifts a brow but puts his boot into your palms either way. His startled intake causes a grin to flit over your face when you all but throw him over the gate. What had he expected? The guy’s so slim he weighs near to nothing!

You turn around and he gives you a skeptic look from the other side of the fence.

    “Uhm… and how are you-“

Ignoring his comment you swiftly climb up the tall gate and jump over it in less than five seconds, wiping your hands on your leggings, cocking a brow at him yourself now which he can’t see thanks to your mask, but doesn’t need to; your dripping sarcasm is very well audible.

    “You were saying?” But before he has time to come up with a clever reply, a blinding ray of light falls on the two of you, followed by a surprised shout. _A guard?!_ In a blink you have drawn two of the red throwing knives from your gear belt, but then you hesitate, the image of poor Jonesy shooting through your mind, stalling your hands. Void hisses a curse, pulls you  behind him by the back of your jacket and raises a clenched fist, his arm glowing a radiant purple. A giant black hole materializes behind the guard who has already jerked up his radio, and with a low noise, he vanishes into eternal darkness, the black hole along with him.

    “Oh shit, why-, did you _kill_ him?!” you cry out in terror. Void jerks away from you, an incredulous expression on his face.

    “What? Of course I did! _You_ obviously weren’t going to do it!” Then he pauses and rakes his eyes over you, before an even more disbelieving look widens them. “Wait a minute… don’t tell me you can’t even snuff a guard! How the hell has Blackhat not kicked you out yet? And by kicking you out I mean kill you!”

You shrug helplessly, cursing yourself for even losing your cool in front of him like that.

    “I- but what if he has… a family? Or- I don’t know-“ but Void barks out a hysteric, cold laughter that shuts your meek stammering right up.

    “Are you for real? I once had a family, too, and the local hero of the district decided their lives were worth less than those of the people riding the derailing train he was trying to stop! If you haven’t noticed, which I almost can’t believe, it’s kill or _be_ killed in this world! You should be glad this guy was just some random stranger who got in the way and not someone you _knew_ that had to be offed!” He had raised his voice over the outburst and now seemed to take a second to compose himself again, looking away and towards the museum. “Now get your shit together, we’re not done here. And there are probably even more guards we’ll have to kill if we want to get what we’re here for.” Void storms a few steps over to the loading ramp before he stops again and throws you a glance over his shoulder. “I’ll do you a favor and don’t mention this to Blackhat, either. But you better not keep screwing around like that.”

You bite back the vicious comment on your tongue and follow him. Avoiding the guard altogether would have been the most optimal outcome for you, but in a few minutes it wouldn’t matter anyway; Void would attack in front of the museum and then everyone would be too focused on the supervillain wreaking havoc outside than to wonder where one guard was. But now really wasn’t the time to think grandly about the what’s and if’s – you had to focus, _really_ focus. As if to remind you, Void points to his ear.

    “Put your earpiece in, we’re going to need an active comm line if we want this to go over smoothly.” Once you have stuffed the piece of electronic down your ear canal he nods and takes a deep breath, shaking out his hands. “Alright, get in position on the roof and once I unleash hell, you use the noise to get in, then wait for me to cut the power. Ready?”

    “As ready as I’ll ever be.” You grumble, returning the nod and detaching the gaff from your gear belt. In spite of his anger not a minute ago, Void shoots you a crooked grin.

    “And please don’t get yourself incinerated by Flug's sci-fi gloves.” With this he takes off, in an undeniably impressive supervillain way: summoning a black hole in the air above the roof, Void grabs a pebble off the floor, leaps up and uses the momentum of the black hole’s gravitational pull on the stone to soar over the museum’s roof and quickly out of sight. You can only follow the disappearing figure with your mouth hanging open in bafflement. _Okay, that was seriously rad._ But then you catch yourself and throw the gaff over the ledge of the wall, scaling the building lickety-split. He might have supernatural powers, but you had your own specific set of skills that weren’t exactly something to sneer at. You’re still pretty rattled by the coldhearted killing of the guard, and, to be perfectly honest, the murder you had committed yourself not even 24 hours ago, but you had to finally get your head back in the game for Pete’s sake! It was no fucking use to cry over spilled milk, no matter how crude that comparison might be under these circumstances, and you had been indirectly involved in killing people before, vividly remembering the traitor, Lenny, you had hit in the neck with a throwing knife, enabling Sans to smash his head with the heel of a huge, polished shoe. And weren’t you doing all this to _kill_ Sans ultimately?!

So, in all honesty you weren’t exactly as good as you had been trying to tell yourself.

A loud explosion jerks you from your self centered thoughts and you hurry up to get to the rooftop, pulling yourself over the ledge with a protesting sting from your right shoulder. Once you’re up, you stare in the direction Void had vanished into, immediately spotting the utter destruction he already has managed to wreak, thanks to the xenon floodlights all swiveled towards the spot. Debris is flying around – cars, shredded parts of the chain linked fence, crumbling concrete walls. Everything, whether bolted or not gets flung up into the air and zeroes in on a black hole the size of a small house, lightning flashing over the surface in  a frightening display of raw power. A cacophony of sirens starts shrilling over the din, calling all forces to the attack and crying out for additional help. Time to make use of this distraction!

You run a few yards over the roof, to the center of the museum where the main hall is located, using the scans of the building you memorized. The angled windows in the roof are all hooked up to the internal security system with conductive lead foil and smashing one would interrupt the circuit and trigger the lockdown. But luckily Flug had equipped you with a modified version of  the bridging-tool you normally used to reroute the conduit of a stripped window. With swift, trained movements you have hooked the window up to the ammeter in no time, read the current on the display and punch the numbers into the second device you would use to bypass the trap. Not even two minutes later, your lock picks had made short work of the roof window, no alarm triggered, and you jump to your feet, grinning at the gaping, dark rectangle. Then you unravel the entire length of rope you’re carrying until you reach the safety line and toss that into the opening. The rest of the rope you wrap around a sturdy metal beam on the roof and knot it in a way that will allow you to retrieve the entire rope with a yank on the thin thread you’ve already thrown in through the window. After giving the rope a few hearty pulls, you ease yourself down into the silent museum.

Once inside, you pause in your descent to scan the upper corners of the walls around you, quickly noticing the security cameras, swaying from side to side, their LEDs still active. But it couldn’t be much longer now. You count your breaths, focus on your improving night vision and shift your weight to relieve your burned shoulder while you wait for your signal. So far everything seems to be going according to Flug’s plan, if you counted out the killed guard.

A louder explosion from outside makes the lights suddenly flicker on and off again, followed by a low hum as the power runs out. The security cameras all droop in unison, the red lights on them slowly fading to black. At the same time you pick up the noise of a collective clack as all doors hooked up to the backup power promptly get locked. The museum is now in lockdown mode, turning it into a fortress against any attacks from outside. You quickly slide down the rest of the rope and already pull the safety line that undoes the knot, falling to the marble ground and mitigating your impact with a fluid roll. And not a second too soon. With a loud rumble the windows in the roof get covered tightly by heavy shutters. Now you’re locked inside, but this is exactly what you wanted. As long as the lockdown is in full effect, the backup forces of security will also have a very hard time getting to the inner complex where the artifact is being displayed if you triggered a secondary alarm despite your precautions and best efforts. With the low light from outside now completely gone, you’re forced to remove the hood and mask to equip the night vision headset Flug gave you, illuminating the vast room in greyish shades. You sneak along behind the large center piece in the middle of the exhibit, the huge, skeletal shadow of a tyrannosaur looming above you, frozen in the middle of a pounce. Activating the hologram projector, you take a second to confirm your position before moving towards the closed door to your right separating you from your target. The point of entry couldn’t have been chosen any better, there’s literally only one door between you and the artifact. You’re going to be out of here in no time!

The heavy door is locked without any visible bars but the scans Flug’s drones did had revealed that they’re locked with an internal mechanism, invisible and inaccessible from outside. But the museum’s defenses have one very critical weak point: every room is connected to the air ventilation so that visitors trapped inside don’t suffocate during a lockdown. And while the ventilation ducts aren’t nearly wide enough to allow access for any human being, they are certainly big enough to send something else through to the other side. The one you’re planning to use is right beside the double door on ground level for your convenience. And since they won’t allow a human to get either in or out, their covers aren’t fitted with any special security measures. The tip of your knife is enough to unscrew the top of the grid and wedge it open. Then you sit back on your heels. 

    “Alright Flug, let’s see what your gadgets can do for real." You mumble into the darkness, ignoring the general sounds of chaos from outside. You just hope that Void remembers not to total the place while you’re still inside. From a pocket of your gear belt you procure a tiny robot drone and activate it with a button. The little device comes to life with a lot of whirring and beeping and you throw a nervous glance over your shoulder yet the hall behind you stays dark. Thank God the drone is pre-programmed so all you need to do is set it into the narrow air vent and silently close the hatch behind it. At once the robot scuttles off into the steel duct, quickly vanishing from sight. You wait with hiked up shoulders, straining your ears over the muffled noises. A particularly loud crash makes you flinch and duck slightly in apprehension, but nothing happens, safe for the soft clicking coming from inside the door, followed by an audible snap. So the drone actually managed to open it without triggering an alarm!

Still you push the heavy brass handle down with a grimace, always expecting the shrill cry of sirens. But the door swings open with only a low moan of ancient wood and you swiftly slip into the inner sanctum of the museum, quietly pulling the door shut behind you. In a low crouch you scan the expanse of the room, eyes darting from one suspicious shadow to the next and taking a moment every time to make sure it’s not moving. You’re still alone, the security guards must be either focusing on the main entrance where Void is unleashing hell in front of the museum, or are huddled up in their room to plan first. As long as none of them show up, you’re free to do as you please. The little robot drone bumps against your foot and you bend down to pick it up, patting it on the back before turning it off and placing it back in your pocket. Suddenly your earpiece gives of a crackle of static that makes you flinch so hard your back hits the door. But nothing else follows and you slump against the wood, pressing a hand to your chest to calm your racing heart. Probably just an interference caused by Void’s powers. Your haunted gaze comes to rest on a glass case in the middle of the room, barred off from the rest of the room by a thick velvet rope on poles. Inside is a simple, white block and poised on that a delicate armband, floating in the air. In the infrared light from the goggles, you can see that it is emitting a slow, pulsing glow. The artifact!

A smirk curls your lips and you step over the rope to saunter up to the display case, eyeing the artifact from up close as if you were a regular visitor. Your gaze falls on the plaque at the bottom of the case.

The Bracelet of Hermes

 It just looks like a fancy piece of jewelry, not like some magical instrument to create portals, safe for the glow maybe. Pretty boring, to be honest. _Oh well, if Mr. Professional Pain in my Ass wants it so bad, let’s get it,_ you think and pull the gloves taut over your fingers. Some of the security measures might not be hooked up to any of the power supplies, running on a battery, and thus could still be active so you’ll have to check each of them first with the electromagnetic-field-scanner. Although the display case looks flawless you quickly notice the well hidden sensors and optical barrier points, tucked away from direct view in the corners and edges of the glass box. But before you can even lift your hand with the scanner, your earpiece explodes in a piercing chorus of shouts and gunshots and then Void’s scream: “Shit! ______, wherever you are, get to cover!”

    “What the hell, Void?!” you cry back in shock and pain alike, dropping the scanner and nearly pulling the earplug out. “What’s going-“

    “Just- _fuck_ , just get behind something, I can’t hold him-“

But the rest of his words get swallowed by the booming sound of a giant fist that breaks down the entire south side of the room, the wall across from you collapsing in a rain of shattering marble, concrete and glass, a thick cloud of dust and rubble enveloping you and blinding you completely in the darkness, your infrared vision useless. Something hits your arm that you instinctively jerked before your face and you take a startled breath, instantly ducking behind the column of the display case. With a high crash the glass gets shattered by more debris, razor sharp shards raining down on you before you have enough time to pull the hood back over your face, the appearing mask knocking the goggles from your eyes. Your lungs sting from the dust you already inhaled and you can’t suppress the frantic coughs shaking you.

In all this chaos and destruction you raise a hand to feel your way up the marble podium, the heavy gloves Flug made for you now thankfully protecting your fingers from the edges of the broken glass case. More blows are raining down around you like a bomb shower – or a meteorite storm – and the ground shakes as more and more parts of the room come crashing down, the bright lights from outside suddenly glaring through the billowing clouds of pulverized bricks, blinding your maladapted eyes. Your fingers brush against a curved piece of metal and you hastily swipe it down and into your other hand, hissing at the pain in your forearm. You don’t think it’s broken, but definitely badly bruised from the piece of rubble. Suddenly the meteor shower ends abruptly, and your earpiece crackles, a cough coming over the aether. But you don’t dare to call out to Void over the subsiding noise. Instead you make yourself as small as you can behind the marble column, waiting with bated breath for what comes next. Rushing ahead right now doesn’t seem to be a good idea. Whoever caused this is probably just waiting for something to stick its head out of the ruined complex. You hastily pick up the headset and scanner you dropped, not wanting to possibly forget them here.

    “Void!” you whisper. “What the fuck happened? Void? Do you hear me?” Your ears strain against the noises from outside, the agitated shouts and howl of police sirens, and then suddenly a voice cuts through the din, full and booming, echoing through your earpiece, so Void must be somewhere between you and the speaker.

    “How do you like my new powers, Void? Pretty cool, huh? Finally I got something to take you down once and for all! Tonight, you answer for your crimes, villain!” The pompous speech is met with distant cheers and applause from the security forces outside and you hear the unknown person laugh loudly in triumph. _A superhero?! Shit, Flug didn’t tell me what to do in this case! Where the fuck is Void?!_ Your mind is in turmoil; you can’t do shit against an actual hero on your own! You don’t have magic or black holes, you just have knives and a plasma-cutter that might incinerate you first before you can do any damage! But you already have the artifact, safe and sound in a hidden pocket. Should you try to get to the ship and call Flug to send Dementia as reinforcements? Invoke Blackhat himself? Without knowing Void’s condition it’s hard to choose an option. If he’s not too badly hurt you could split up and first secure the artifact before getting back, but if he’s unconscious, you’re on your own! There’s no way you can get away if you have to carry him, not without getting caught and the mission failing completely. A louder cough from the ruined wall makes you flinch and then something moves in the rubble, causing stones to fall apart with a clacking noise.

    “Y- you call that power?” Void! His voice sounds strained from pain but still sarcastic enough to calm the worst of your fears and open more options to you. “What the hell are you doing here? This- this isn’t even your terf you prick! I had expected Monolith to show up perhaps, but not a clown like you.”

The hero scoffs.

    “Takes one to know one! Too bad I showed up before you could steal the Bracelet of Hermes, huh? Did you honestly think I didn’t know you would come here?” he mocks the villain right back and you hear Void cursing under his breath.

    “Void.” You whisper again, calmer, getting an irritated noise back. _Good, so he can still hear me._ “I have the artifact. But I’m a sitting duck, the moron destroyed the entire room where the display case was, _including_ the case and every trap hooked up to it! Security is probably already on their way to me. Can you get us out?”

    “You got it?” he’s still trying to keep his voice down but you hear the excited edge. “I can try… but- it’s looking bad.” His concern is audible as well, fanning your own nervousness.

    “Should we split up?” you suggest quickly. “If you can give me an opening, I could head to the ship and call for backup!”

    “Good idea, let me- _shit_!” The last word is a shouted curse and then you see the hero, swooping down from outside in an arch of light, his fist outstretched, wielding a spear. A black hole the size of a car opens right in front of the attacker but it collapses just as instantly, somehow destroyed by a swing from the spear and the hero emerges, unharmed! There’s lightning sparking from his weapon, eyes behind a mask glowing like wildfire and you take a panicked breath when a new cloud of dust explodes on the impact, the shockwave carrying it through the room. You hear Void’s agonized scream, cut off abruptly by another heavy blow from the heroes fist. _Shit. He got him!_ _That’s it, I have to get out of here before I end up like him!_ But how? The hero is blocking your only way out, you don’t think you can escape unnoticed through the rest of the museum that’s still under lockdown, not while being chased! You risk a look around the column and bite your lip to not scream in shock:

Void is lying on the cracked marble floor, the left side of his face covered in blood from a huge wound over his brow. There’s more blood seeping from beneath his shirt, the source a gaping slash from the spear, dyeing his purple vest black. He’s not dead yet, though, his chest moves in shallow intakes. You quickly slink back behind the column when a heavy, red boot is placed on Void’s chest, jerking the villain from his unconsciousness. Void screams in pain and tries feebly to pull the boot off of him but the hero leans on it with his entire weight, propping the end of the spear on the ground next to Void’s head to bend halfway down to him. He’s a mountain of muscles, of course, jet black hair slicked back into a perfect Elvis-flip, his suit a jarring combination of red and golden spandex. What was it with heroes and gold? And spandex! He chuckles and shakes his head.

    “I told you, Void. The good guys always win. Took a while, granted, but hey, look who’s the last one standing! I’ll send you a postcard when you’re locked up and your demonic powers finally stripped away.” Suddenly, with a last, desperate effort, Void draws up a leg and kicks the hero square in the nuts with enough force to lift the boot off his chest. The asshole doubles over, dropping his spear to clutch his groin, face turning as red as a beet, a huge vein throbbing on his temple. But then he turns and kicks the villain in his bleeding side, flinging him around and right back into unconsciousness. The wheezing hero spits on Void’s lifeless form. “You… should have stayed in the _gutter_ where you belonged, with the other addicts and scum, the fucking _bottom feeders_! And since you just resisted arrest…” he lifts his spear off the floor, leveling it until the sharp blade is hovering right over Void’s head. “Got to _hell_!”

You don’t know what compels you to do it. Maybe it’s the fact that the hero just received a vicious kick to the balls and can’t even stand upright. Maybe it’s the way he said _bottom feeders_ and _scum_. Or maybe it’s the fact that Void apparently came from the same place you did: from the gutter. Whatever it is, you suddenly dash from your cover, your tabi-shoes silent on the dusty marble. Just when the hero raises the spear to kill your partner, you jump on his back, grab a fistful of black locks and bury your Bowie knife up  to the hilt inside his unprotected neck; severing muscles, ligaments, windpipe and everything in the way with a vicious swipe of your arm that frees the blade from his throat again, spraying blood in an insane fountain across the room. The hero garbles unintelligibly in shock and clasps his open neck, the spear clattering uselessly to the floor, but his head simply flops back since there’s no more muscles left to pull it forward. You place a foot on his back and shove him away, jumping off of him. He stumbles one, two steps forward and then collapses on the ground, a huge, scarlet puddle quickly spreading from under his twitching body.

With wild eyes you wheel around to the opening in the building, your mask thankfully dimming the glare from the flood lights. Fortunately the impact left a big pile of rubble in the cleft, protecting you from the eyes of the security forces outside, but you can already hear them calling out for the hero, concerned. As fast as you can you stuff the bloodied knife back into its scabbard on your thigh and kneel down, turning Void over. With one hand you tear the right glove off your hand and drop it, holding the back of your hand over his face. A warm stream meets your skin and you exhale in relief.

    “Come on Mr. professional supervillain…” you curse and slap his cheeks. “Wake up! Wake up!” Suddenly his eyes flutter open, gaze unsteady yet he raises a hand to fend you off. He groans something you can’t understand but you’re already busy pulling him up, slinging his arm over your shoulder and hoisting his limp body off the ground with your own, panting from the pain that flares in your still too fresh shoulder-wound, your leg and the rest of your mangled body. On a notion, you grab the spear the hero dropped and use it as leverage to pull the two of you up. “Move your fucking feet, Void!” you hiss, glancing up to the hole in the wall. Now you can hear shouts and the trampling of feet on sliding rubble. “Shit, they’re coming!” Without waiting for Void to fully come to first, you drag him over to the door you came through, struggling trying to push it open with your shoulder and maneuver him and the huge spear through the narrow opening at the same time, but then you’re through and the heavy oak door falls shut with a slam. The darkness feels suffocating after the glaring flood lights, your hope of getting out dwindling again already. _Fuck it_. You just have to try!

    “Nyarlathotep, Nyarlathotep, _Nyarlathotep_!” you whisper intently, clenching your eyes shut. Void flinches next to you, his hand slightly tapping on your shoulder.

    “Wh- what are you doing?” he asks weakly. When nothing happens, and of course nothing happens, you spit out a desperate, hysteric laugh and shrug.

    “Shit, I don’t know? Trying to call Blackhat to get us the fuck out of here?!” your voice sounds shrill and panicked, doubling your anxiety even more. Void snorts a humorless guffaw himself.

    “Seriously? You’ll have a better chance to _fly_ us out of here.” He comments. Your head snaps around to give him an angry glare, which is entirely ineffective in the dark.

    “Really Void? Cracking wiseass jokes at a time like this? Do I have to remind you that I saved your fucking life back there? Either you give me a constructive idea or I’ll drop your ass right here and get the artifact to Blackhat myself!”

Suddenly his grip around your shoulder tightens painfully and you whine, almost dropping him for real. But then he laughs out again, in sheer relief.

    “You still have it? Oh thank fuck- you have to use it!” You furrow your brow under the mask, doubtful.

    “I- what do you mean use it? I thought you had to enchant it first?” you say but take out the artifact either way. His wild hair tickles your neck as he shakes his head.

    “No, it works fine, for _you_ at least. Here, put it on.” His fingers are cold when he pulls the armband from your grasp and slips it over your hand, the slow pulsing light illuminating him just enough to see the triumphing grin on his face. Blood is still running from the wound over his eyebrow. The artifact doesn’t feel like anything special is happening and you give him another doubting look. “Now, focus on the hat-ship, its cockpit. You have to really imagine us being there, okay?”

Loud voices ring from the other room, shocked shouts upon the discovery of the killed hero, orders are being shouted and you feel cold sweat on your forehead.

    “Why not Blackhat’s manor?” You ask, haunted. Void groans, his hand closing around yours.

    “No- wouldn’t work… can’t explain. It _has_ to be the ship, ______! Please! Just… _trust_ me on this, okay?” You hear the fear in his strained voice; pure terror. You even think that Void is shaking all over. But maybe that’s just you.

    “Okay.” You finally say. “Anything else I need to do?”

    “No. Just imagine us standing in the ship. Hurry!”

You close your eyes to focus. Before your inner eye you conjure up the image of the hat-ship’s bridge, the huge console, the pilot seat. You imagine the red window running around the entire wall, the metal floor, the row of seats and the kiddy seat for 5.0.5, and how cold it had been in there. “I think… I think you did it.” Void suddenly mumbles and faints, his limp weight pulling you to the ground with him. With a yelp you open your eyes and stare right at the backrest of the pilot seat inside the hat-ship. A quick look around confirms that you did indeed do it! This is real! Amazed, you look down on the glowing armband. Nothing’s changed, it still looks deceivingly boring.

_Time to get the hell out of Dodge!_

You toss the spear away, heave Void onto the seats in the back and push the button on the console you saw him press before the launch. The ship boots up with a growing drone and you remember to throw yourself into the pilot seat before the rocket-launch can smoosh you on the ground! But this time you laugh at the insane acceleration, laugh out in endless relief, because not only did you manage to escape with the artifact, no, you had killed a hero! And you don’t feel even an ounce bad about it! This was a total success! Well, if you counted Void out.

 

The hat-ship lifts off of the skyscraper and races away over the city and quickly out of view. The agent finally puts the binoculars from his strained eyes and jots down the exact time, velocity and direction. He hadn’t seen anyone board the ship. Better to report back and check up on his partners’ end. He pulls out his radio.

    “This is Happy Feet to Tango, come in?” He mumbles. His skin was itching like crazy under the thick black paint he had applied to every exposed square inch of his body that wasn’t covered by fabric. Hopefully it wasn’t an allergy. The radio crackles.

    “We read you Happy Feet. What is your status?” comes the low answer. Codename Happy Feet feels a surge of relief shooting through him, glad that his team was apparently alright. With an enemy like the one they were dancing with, survival was never really the likely outcome, no matter how well you were trained.

    “The Hat left. I repeat: the Hat left! Did you see who it was this time?” He replies and hopes that the answer is going to be either Papa Bear or Paperhat and not Punk. Or, Heaven forbid: Him! But no, He wouldn’t have used the hat-ship to get to places, that was for His henchmen. But you never knew.

    “Void. And apparently he wasn’t alone, but nobody saw the other one!” Tango’s voice carries her agitation even over the static connection. Happy Feet tenses, lying on his stomach. _Void_? So their intel had been correct, he was out to get the artifact. Tango continues: “They killed Centurio before he could capture Void. The poor bastard got his head nearly cut off by that other maniac! We found a single print on the scene that doesn’t match any in our database. But, they left something else behind! One of Paperhat’s inventions no doubt.” She sounds grim but satisfied nonetheless. In a wink he’s on his feet.

    “They left something behind _on accident_?! Tango-“ he exclaims but she laughs.

    “Relax, Happy Feet. It’s not a bomb and not bugged either. The way Waltz sees it, it’s just some fancy gadget they were testing on the crime scene. Maybe that’s how they got the Bracelet. Although…” a brief pause and he can already see her before his inner eye, looking around and analyzing the scene. “Looks more like the display case was collateral damage from the fight. They got away with the artifact… and from the looks of it they used it to get out of the locked museum. _And_ they took the spear. Shit.”

Happy frowns again, mulling her words over in his head. They had never left something behind before other than chaos, destruction, deaths… but never a clue this big up to now! Then a thought hits him:

    “Do you think it’s a new villain under His wing?”

Tango exhales a long, whistling breath.

    “If it is, it’s definitely a possible lead. Let’s regroup and meet back at the dance studio.”

Happy Feet nods, stretching his aching, frozen limbs.

    “On my way. Over and out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a pretty stressful week, y'all, and I'm so glad to be back ♥  
>  **Next update on the 17th of November!**


	28. Zipper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I finally made a twitter for this fanfiction where I'm gonna post update news, art and random stuff that comes up during writing Your New Boss From Hell!! Check it out @YNBFHofficial

_He gingerly pulls it over your hand, turns it around, and with a quick flick of his wrist the slim armband disappears. Then he places his empty glass onto the table next to the armchair._

 

### 28\. Zipper

  
  
  


When the loading hatch lowers, you’re more than surprised, and startled, to see both Flug and Lord Blackhat standing outside in waiting. Void’s arm around your shoulder tenses and you can basically sense his equally sudden spike of fear even though he’s already about to pass out again. You just hope Blackhat’s displeasure about the more than bumpy execution of the heist wouldn’t all come raining down on you alone. After all you had secured the artifact successfully on your own and above all slain a hero, effectively saving this entire operation! Surely that fact alone had to be worth at least a few bonus points, right?

Yet when Blackhat’s single eye darts down from your face to your chest, to your SOUL, your instinct to writhe on the spot is close to unbearable, your heart skipping a painful beat at the wide, ill-boding grin that spreads over his features not a second later. So there’s your answer then. You clench your jaw in turn and already steel yourself for whatever might come now. Or later. However Flug, completely having missed this silent exchange, promptly takes a shocked breath when he notices the huge, freshly bleeding wound in Void’s side and comes rushing up the ramp.

    “Goodness, what happened?!” he exclaims, fussing over the injured supervillain until you just set him down on the metal walkway and take a few steps back so the doctor can do his thing without slapping you in the process. “This shouldn’t have happened, the plan was flawless!” Now he actually sounds like he’s blaming you. You scoff, throwing your head back to get your messy hair out of your eyes, and causing a handful of pale dust to waft to the floor.

    “Uh, yeah, up to the point where a fucking superhero just swooped in to crash the party, doc! Didn’t give us a plan for that now, did you?!” You snap at him, gesturing to Void. “He even knew Void was out to get the artifact! So, lemme ask _you_ : what the fuck happened?!”

    “If- if you had watched all the orientation videos you would have known how to handle a surprise attack from a hero!” Flug yells back, his voice high-pitched from stress and being called out on his error. You bark out a cold laugh, remove the remaining glove from your hand and slap it to the ground, pointing an accusing finger at him.

    “Oh now it’s my fucking fault your plan did not have a one hundred percent chance of success like you kept bragging, you bloated, little egg-“

    “ ** _Silence!_** ” Blackhat’s voice is like the sudden clap of thunder in the hangar, causing you to shield your ears with your hands and Flug to curl in on himself in fear of torture. Void does the only sane thing he can do in his state and straight up passes out again with a faint groan. You instantly wheel around to defend yourself against anything your boss might be feeling like to do to you – no way are you going to get punished because Flug decided to be a total dick! Sure enough, Blackhat’s face is distorted unnaturally in rage, his eye glowing red and his splayed fingers transformed into deadly claws. Flug clasps his rubber-gloved hands together, squirming.

    “I’m sorry, boss, I didn’t mean to yell!” he grovels but you snarl openly at Blackhat, returning his livid glare in anger.

    “Well, _I_ did!” you protest, ignoring the warning growl coming from the eldritch horror in front of you. “That hero came prepared, not as a chance first responder! He even said something about new powers he had gotten to take Void down! The way I see it, this was a total setup!”

For a terrible second you think you’re going to get both your ankles broken this time, but then Blackhat pauses, the thought visibly processing in his mind. In a wink he’s back to his normal horrible self, snapping the fingers of one hand impatiently and pointing down to his shoes, his burning eye still trained on you. While everything inside you screams in outrage at the degrading gesture, you move to stomp off the ramp and position yourself next to the big boss, feeling all hairs on your body standing on end immediately. To Flug he says: “Doctor Flug, see to it that Void is accommodated for and his wounds taken care off, write him the receipt for medical expenses, and then run a complete security check of the network.”

His order is met with a shocked sound, and Flug scrambles to his feet, his eyes behind the dark googles agog with shock, two fresh half-moons of sweat darkening the white of his lab coat beneath his arms.

    “T- the en- _entire_ network, boss?! That- that would take the whole-“

    “ **Yesterday** , you spineless worm! And you better not take any breaks!” Blackhat roars and slams a heel onto the floor. Flames shoot out of the ground around him and you immediately jump back, but he already snatches your arm in a vice-like clutch, pulling you down into the darkness with him.

When you emerge it’s neither in his office nor in the hidden master bedroom, thankfully. Your eyes quickly dart around the gloomy room, recognizing the lounge with its green fire. But before you can do much else, Blackhat’s grip has shifted from your arm to your shoulder and with one powerful shove he’s tossed you into the cushion of the armchair, his frame blocking out the light from the fireplace. Your startled intake is abruptly cut off when you raise your eyes to his face, your hands instinctively clawing into the armrests. Blackhat’s eye is narrowed so tightly you can barely make out any of the stark white around the lance shaped pupil. Yet for once his mouth is not twisted in a teeth-baring grimace, but set into a harsh, thin line, making him look more thoughtful than really furious. Still, you don’t dare to move a muscle while in such a vulnerable and precarious position. Only your heart keeps racing away frantically. The antennae-like brows draw closer together, deepening his frown.

    “Your jacket.” Blackhat rumbles lowly. “Take it off.”

You freeze even more, a thousand thoughts shooting through your head why he would want you to do that yet none of them pleasant. Slowly, with eyes still wide, you shake your head. Your mouth falls open to stammer out an excuse why you would rather keep your jacket but your lips won’t move, and then he raises a gloved hand to the collar of your jacket, running one finger slowly and deliberately over your right shoulder, making the burned bite wound sting painfully until you wince in the seat, hissing. Blackhat lifts the finger to his face, smudging the layer of pulverized rubble between index and thumb. “You’re ruining the upholstery.” He finally says matter-of-factly.

    “Oh.” Is all you can utter. Like you had thrown _yourself_ onto the cushion! Yet he doesn’t take a step back to give you space for that either. After a moment of indecision, you awkwardly ease yourself off the chair and stand up, merely an inch away from him now. Blackhat’s hot breath hits your face and you briefly wonder how since he does not have any nostrils, but terror grips you once more as he raises his hand to the zipper.

    “Allow me.”

Somehow he makes it sound less like a polite gesture and more like an irrefutable order bordering on a threat, and before you can even think of a way out of this he’s already pulled the zip slider down all the way and slips his hands under the lapels of your jacket. They glide over your shoulders and down your arms like snakes, peeling the supple leather away from your form. The way he does it, you’re forced to press up to his front so that he doesn’t dislocate both your shoulders, your nose brushing against the fabric of his blood red shirt. His scent is overpowering this up close, the bitter smell of cyanide piercing through everything else this time. But there’s something new in his breath, equally bitter, but also dry and a little pungent from high grade alcohol, laced with a hint of fennel and… anise? But Blackhat interrupts your observations by dropping your jacket to the floor, where it gets immediately swallowed in a portal to God-knows-where, inducing a mild panic-attack in you, and you take a shocked breath. He chuckles, finally taking a step back from you.

“Oh, don’t worry, my little thief, your precious trick-garment is safe and sound. Now, to celebrate your first successful job in the Black Hat Organization!” Suddenly there’s a tulip shaped glass in your hand and Blackhat catches your wrist before you can flinch hard and spill the drink that he’s already pouring. More than a little uneasy, recalling the last time he offered you something to _drink_ , you stare at the strange emerald liquid that has the same smell you noticed on him, only a lot stronger. He fills the glass to a third and then adds water from another hefty crystal decanter. The previously clear liquor turns a milky lime green but doesn’t lose any of its poisonous appearance. You swallow nervously and shoot him a quick glance, but your boss looks completely calm. You decide to keep your guard up anyway. Once he’s done fixing your drink, Blackhat pours himself an entire glass full of the strong, green spirit. Giving it a cautious sniff, you hesitate.

    “Um… is this… can I really drink this?” You mumble, watching his returning grin with another flare of alarm. Blackhat trails one gloved finger over the rim of his glass, _somehow_ eliciting a high, thrumming tone from it, his grin still miles from being even an inch reassuring.

    “But of course, my dear! You never had absinthe before? What a shame. From all liquors you humans invented, this is by far my favorite, commonly known as the green fairy… a Pernod Fils Tarragona… the French vintage from 1850, naturally. Do try to savor it? This is not a drink to be _wasted_.” His voice takes on a sharper edge around the insinuation of what you had done the night before and you twitch, guilt-ridden, clutching the stem. The clinking of his glass against the side of your own makes your eyes shoot back up to him. His gaze is as piercing as always, the monocle gleaming green from the flames that even give his teeth and the black silk of his top hat a poisonous glow. “Here’s to you; cheers.”

You repeat the toast barely audibly, lifting your own glass a little before taking the most cautious of sips. But, to your astonishment and relief, the concoction Blackhat mixed is not only drinkable in human terms, but downright… tasty! Your boss must have been watching your every reaction since he rasps a low, hoarse chuckle when your eyes widen in surprise and you take a second, deeper sip.

    “It’s- it’s really good!” you blurt out, shivering at the pleasant warmth spreading through your body that’s gotten a little cold without the jacket. Blackhat grins, his eye following the track of goosebumps running over your arms.

    “Isn’t it just? The main ingredient is Wormwood, so you should be careful not to drink too much right away. It can have quite powerful effects on your mind. Many artists and virtuosos of the 19th century used its unique properties to fuel their creativity, with, at times, extraordinary results that bordered on _madness_.” While he’s talking, Blackhat reaches out his free hand to seize yours that’s still dangling uselessly by your side, lifting it up between you. Suddenly you realize the artifact is still wrapped around your wrist. Over Void's injury and the escape you had forgotten all about it! He gingerly pulls it over your hand, turns it around in the light from the fire, and with a quick flick of his wrist the slim armband disappears from view. Then he knocks the entire rest of undiluted absinthe back and places his empty glass onto the table next to the armchair. His look has darkened considerably now and you immediately think about taking a cautionary step back yourself, but find you can’t move a limb. _Shit, is he using his powers?!_ Yet both his hands miss the red glow you would have expected.

    “I- the artifact, I only used it-" you stutter, trying to gauge what to say that hopefully won’t set him off in yet another fit of rage. However, Blackhat just grins, stopping your blabbering with a raised finger.

   “I know.” He states, his gaze gaining yet a new level of intensity, a feverish glaze. “I was there.” Your mouth falls open in speechless indignation and now you shake the paralyzed stupor off, taking a step away from him.

    “You were _there_?! Then why didn’t you-!” but then your anger implodes just as quickly, resignation pulling your shoulders down into a defeated slump. After all, it’s still _Blackhat_ you’re dealing with. “Ugh, nevermind…” A crooked smirk lifts the edge of your mouth. “So, since you already know what happened, how did I do? Anything that _didn’t_ disappoint you?” You can’t help the cynic addition and take the second the question hangs in the air to empty your own glass, the heady buzz of the strong liquor a welcome dampener for your agitated mind. Out of the blue Blackhat’s gloved hand curls around yours that’s holding the glass, slowly but deliberately easing the frosted stem out of your fingers with the other and setting the glass aside as well. Your breath has abruptly caught in your throat, alarm shooting like liquid fire through your guts.

    “Let me put it this way…” he muses, his voice low and sibilant; an alien, husky treble in your ears. The hand still wrapped around yours lifts it to his face, and with a slight bow he kisses the back of your hand. The second his lips touch your skin you feel weak in the knees, staggering with a strangled gasp in your throat, your face coloring so hard you feel feverish. Your other hand grabs the backrest of the armchair so you won’t fall. All of this happens within the single heartbeat he has his lips barely brushing against your knuckles. Then you feel his thumb slowly stroking over the back of your hand, like he’s feeling the bones in it. “My, what a delicate bone structure you have under that calloused skin…” he murmurs, more to himself. “These are no hands of the working class or below it… are you quite sure you were _born_ into the streets?”

You can’t answer, can’t even process the strange question, too stunned and too afraid to move a muscle with your legs still feeling like putty. But Blackhat doesn’t mind, he just smirks against your hand and gives it a second, longer kiss. At the same time you notice your repulsion crumbling away like dry sand, being replaced by…

    “Don’t.“ You whisper, tensed and already suspecting what might come next, panic seizing your mind despite your best efforts. Blackhat cocks one brow beneath the brim of his top hat, straightening his back again to look down on you, still holding your hand. The bastard looks perfectly innocent!

    “Why, I haven’t done anything uncouth now, my dear. Whatever could you mean?”

Your eyes are swimming with angry tears. Yet the anger is not only directed at your hellish employer, far from it. But you decide to use that anger to hopefully turn this boat around somehow, and press out: “You know _exactly_ what the fuck I mean!”

His mouth twists in disapproval and regret, tutting: “What filth out of a lovely mouth such as yours… that gutter-language doesn’t become you at all. Let’s see if I can’t teach you some _manners_.” Blackhat’s grin is wicked and full of the filth he just chided you for as he bends deeply over you, slanting his open mouth over your still parted lips. A single tear spills from under your clenched eyes, the last sign of actual resistance before your brain simply shuts down any other rational thought, giving in to the carnal desire his vile kiss evokes in you, or it might end up insane. Sharp teeth nip on your bottom lip and you quickly open your mouth before he can actually bite down, allowing his forked tongue to slip inside and slide over yours. At the same time Blackhat closes the remaining distance between you by wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his hard body, his other hand intertwining with yours that you had raised - maybe to slap him - and clasps it like you were dancing, deepening the kiss. You sigh and shudder despite yourself, your innards twisting in a way as if he had a third hand buried in your guts and was slowly curling it into a fist, dragging them down, all the way down. It’s a feeling both uncomfortable and yet so delicious you have to press your thighs together, squirming, or you fear it might split you open. After another second Blackhat parts from you, the hand on your back moving to your front and slowly slipping under the hem of your shirt.

    “Don’t.” You hiss and now he growls deeply in his chest, irritated.

    “Still?!” But he falls silent at your next words: “Don’t… stop.” And he claims your mouth again with a dark, pleased chuckle, the hand disappearing beneath your black t-shirt, and when you feel his gloved thumb flick over your nipple with the faintest of touches, you gasp in a breath and involuntarily press more into him. Yet despite your own body’s heinous betrayal you don’t think he’s using that spell on you again, the one he demonstrated in his office right after smashing your ankle, and that left you a thirsting, desperate mess that couldn’t wait to get laid, because you’re still keenly aware of the fact that you should be fighting this and that you are, beyond anything, extremely afraid of what he might do to you on a malevolent whim!

And still, you catch yourself returning the eldritch kiss more than readily, your own free hand curling around the nape of his neck to keep him from parting again. Suddenly, with a hungry moan in his throat, he shoves you forward and somehow your back slams into one of the walls when before you had been standing in the middle of the room. His fingers push up the sports bra you’re wearing and now there’s no fabric anymore that shields you from his ghastly skin as he cups your breast, teasing it with his thumb until you writhe and sigh beneath his touch, digging your nails into the skin of his neck. His lips dislodge from you for a fraction, still moving against yours, his voice low and tensed:

   “Give it to me.”

You know of course what he’s talking about and shake your head immediately. Blackhat’s hand over your breast squeezes and kneads until it borders on painful. It feels like he’s trying to dig a hole into your ribcage with his bare hand to get to your SOUL. You can feel the compelling glare from his single eye even through your clenched lids and now you press your lips firmly together in case he might try to coax you into another kiss only for his gruesome phantom-appendage to invade your innermost self again! His other hand abandons its grip around yours to join the one already caressing your breasts, the touch now tantalizing but precise enough to already start undoing you. You throw your head back and to the side, clutching his arms to steady yourself as if you weren’t already pinned to the wall by his body. In a flash his mouth is on your neck, sucking and biting the delicate skin, a stream of saliva running down your throat. “Then just a taste!” He rumbles, cajoling. “You killed with intention this time, you _wanted_ to kill! I want to taste that death in you. I want to know what it did to you!”

    “That- that wasn’t the deal, Blackhat!” you manage to hiss out, twisting your head around to give him a warning glare. You’re both panting hard, breaths mixing in the heated air between you. The pupil of his single eye seems to have split into three now, giving his stare an almost unbearable intensity, yet you hold it, your heart leaping into your throat from newly rising apprehension that merges with the physical arousal still raging through your veins, making all your senses painfully sharpened. Then he grins furtively at you, his huge teeth glistening in the light from the fireplace next to him.

    “I could offer you another deal. You can have anything you want and all you would have to do is let me taste. your. soul!” He rasps, underlining each word with a firm stroke over your nipples that makes you squirm. Frantic, because a tiny voice inside your head tells you insistently that you could get something _useful_ out of a deal this time, you shake your head again, your hands on his arms now actively trying to push him away.

    “I told you! No more deals! You will get my SOUL when it’s time, and not a second sooner!” You’re surprised by the steadiness of your voice, and apparently so is Blackhat, yet his brief look of astonishment is instantly replaced by a vicious snarl.

    “Then I should just kill you right here and now and take that bloody soul of yours for good!” he roars, yanking his hands out from under your shirt and pinning your shoulders to the wall with talon-armed claws, all suave air of seduction abandoned. You wince at the sharp sting of pain but keep your eyes locked with his, smirking sardonically in the face of doom itself.

    “That would also go against our deal. And my contract.” You remind him, resting your head back against the wall. A major part of your mind is reeling at how calm you are! You don’t actually think he would give a flying fuck about a deal he made with you while you were drunk, do you?! But, surprisingly enough, Blackhat pauses, his mouth still twisted into a teeth-baring maw but he’s actually hesitating! “That’s right.” you gloat, wrapping your hands around his wrists. “If you want it so badly why did you even agree to the terms of that deal? Plus, you know damn well I didn’t read a word of the contract I signed. It’s okay,” you add on a sudden notion, watching his eye widen, “we all make mistakes.”

With a terrible roar Blackhat explodes into a sickening chaos of whirling shadow tendrils, teeth and straight up surging darkness, while the room around you bends out of shape until the dimensions make no sense anymore, the sight almost enough to shatter your human mind. But the feeling of triumph, that the ending blow hasn’t come yet, keeps you from actually losing it. Horrible, gory organs, too many eyes and saw blades join your personal horror-show but you’re _still_ not dead and when the terrifying tornado of unspeakable dread eventually subsides and the skewed view of the lounge stops breaking the laws of physics again, you cross your arms in front of your chest, hiding your shaking hands, and shoot Blackhat a look that you hope says _unimpressed_ , and not _I was this close to shitting my pants_. In spite of what he said he didn’t kill you. This time he didn’t even harm a hair on your body! In fact, he looks loathe to come anywhere near you now, his hands balled into tight fists and his single eye bloodshot as he skewers you with a glare.

    “Get. Out!” Blackhat snarls, gnashing his teeth until you think they’re going to crack. You raise an eyebrow but swallow the dry comment shooting through your head, demanding to be let out and deliver his ego the finishing blow, since you fear that anything else from you now might be the catalyst he needs to kill you despite his obvious inability. So you just step round him and escape through the door on the other side of the room, your feet carrying you down the dark hall of the gallery and up the first two flights of stairs on your way to the safety of your room, before you’re forced to sink down on the upper landing, clutching the handrail. Your breath is so haunted it hurts your heaving ribs, your knees unable to support your weight any further. You glance down at your stolen watch. It’s already past 2 am, so 5.0.5 might still be prowling the hallways in his other form. Either that or Blackhat might just wake him up to tear you to shreds in his hurt pride, but you need to calm down first! And to do just that, and to keep itself from ultimately losing it, your mind begins to analyze what had just happened, tries to detangle the strange occurrences you just went through.

Why the fuck had Blackhat not ignored your protest and just tasted your SOUL this time? It hadn’t stopped him before, and he apparently had not been required to get your permission first. Was it because of what your SOUL did to him back in his room, the way it had attacked him? Was he actually afraid you might try to harm him if he touched your SOUL again without your consent? You curl up on the stairs, peering into the darkness through the poles of the banister, grounding yourself on the firm, warm wood. But the biggest question was: why had Blackhat not killed you even after you provoked him like that?! You doubt a dubious deal like the one he persuaded you into making would actually be enough to keep him from going against it and straight up murdering you! Though… maybe it was indeed the work-contract you had signed that actually protected you? The second biggest conundrum was his creepy obsession with your soul. He had been so ecstatic about it right before his outburst, almost desperate to taste it, downright _feening_. What was it about you killing the hero that had gotten him so riled up? Riled up enough to actually try and _seduce_ you into allowing him a taste of your divine essence again. Was that the reason he had made this sex-pact with you in the first place? Your SOUL? It had to be, if he was actually interested in your body he wouldn’t have stopped after you denied him access to your SOUL, quite the opposite actually. His words echo through your mind, the tensed, urgent tone in his gravelly voice:

 _You killed with intention this time, you_ wanted _to kill. I want to taste that death in you. I want to know what it did to you!_

An ice cold shiver grabs hold of you and your eyes widen in terror. _This_ time… the last time you killed someone, it had been the drifter you sliced open out of… yeah, what exactly had made you do that? Unfortunately you can’t recall the details anymore thanks to the two bottles of schnapps that had eviscerated most of your brain cells but something begins to dawn on you: Blackhat is waiting for something to happen to your SOUL that would make it even more desirable to him than it is right now which is why he didn’t kill you and took it for himself even though nothing more than a questionable deal was keeping him from it. But what would happen to you if your SOUL didn’t develop the way he wanted it to? If he got… bored with it, or worse, disappointed?

The cold fist around your heart squeezes, realization hitting you like the front of a truck. He would steal your essence under two circumstances, no, three rather: a) once your SOUL was the way he wanted it to be, once it _tasted_ too good to hold back anymore most likely, b) once someone else killed you, or c) once your SOUL was the opposite of what he wanted. Then he would just kill you to get rid of you, your only usefulness, your only purpose to him forfeit. That was something you could not allow to happen, not under any circumstances! You were okay with him taking your SOUL in case you got killed by someone else, no problem. Then he would just be picking the scraps like a vulture would a carcass in the wild. Circle of life and all that shit. And if you kept doing what he wanted, developing your SOUL in the right way?

You pause suddenly, gnawing on your fingernails, your brow deeply furrowed. There is still the matter of his hesitation, of the reason why he hadn’t just tasted your SOUL as he damn well pleased. You would have been unable to stop him, his physical strength already overwhelming on its own, not to mention the unearthly, magical powers he possesses. You’re literally a doll to his whim, a happy puppet on strings if he wants you to be. So why? Why the hell had he not simply taken what he wanted? Was he so afraid of your SOUL possibly lashing out again and wounding him? It is the only reasonable explanation you can think of.

 You exhale a hoarse breath, running your hands over your face, fingers trembling. Void had accidentally revealed that you weren’t merely paying off a debt you owed to Lord Blackhat but that he was seeing you as his student; plus he had branded you with his mark as one of only three people in the entire world – worlds! The way Lady Naga had reacted, full of envy and hatred, this had to be an actual honor in the villain universe, something other people fought over to have! So he wanted to turn you into an actual villain, huh? Was that it? If you played along and slowly gained more infamy in his organization, did more jobs for villains and got more ruthless yourself, would that prolong your life or shorten it? And would he actually let you go off on your own eventually, and not keep you locked up in here as yet another henchman? Maybe… maybe Void could tell you more. He had been trained by Blackhat himself, right? He knew probably more about him than anyone else, possibly even more than Flug! Had he also sold his soul to Blackhat to become a member of his organization?

Your head is buzzing from all the thoughts running through it, droning like an agitated hive of hornets ready to erupt. You won’t get anywhere tonight thinking and worrying yourself crazy, you should try to get some rest. Tomorrow is most likely going to be hell already with how you had made a fool of Blackhat. You would definitely pay for that disaster, one way or the other. An anxious shiver shakes your shoulders and you pull yourself up on the railing, sneaking the last steps to your door. Once it closes behind you, a dark shadow falls on the stairway, reaching all the way up to your doorstep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya done goofed!! The boss did NOT like that!! PREPARE YOUR BLADDER FOR IMMINENT RELEAASE!
> 
>  
> 
> **Next Update on the 24th of November!**


	29. Begging for Thread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to check out the twitter @YNBFHofficial 🎩

_He takes a breath as if to say something, pauses, and opens his eyes to look at you._

_“Vijay.” He just mumbles. You raise an eyebrow in confusion._

_“What-"_

_“My name. It’s Vijay.”_

### 29\. Begging for Thread

 

 

Blackhat regards your sleeping face, screwed up in restless slumber, your lips moving silently. The cold sweat covering your body smells of fear, strong enough to almost taste it in the air as well. He doesn’t even have to enter your mind at this point to know what you’re dreaming of, what memories had surfaced from the part of your subconscious mind you keep locked away from yourself, to haunt you in your sleep this time. A Cheshire grin of cruel gratification splits his face. Serves you right for being so insolent and renitent! But he can’t deny your strong willpower, your resolve to oppose him yet again. You’re not stupid, you probably know by now what he’s out to do to you and he’s more than curious to see what you will do from here on out. Will you keep resisting him no matter the cost? Will you give up and surrender? He doubts that; you’re simply not the type to roll over and accept your fate. Never have been.

He raises a hand and waves it briskly to the side. The heavy comforter flies back, exposing your scarred body. You’re lying on your left side, the right hand hidden under the pillow, and he senses the knife in your grasp, ready to defend yourself at the slightest disturbance, betraying the vulnerable sight you behold. He’s still aching to have a taste of your soul, salivates without really noticing it. He can see it beneath the black shirt you wear, sure enough, sees the change that’s crept into your essence and that has smothered yet another tiny fraction of the light you’re still clinging to, even after everything that happened. His hand twitches on his back and he curls it into a tight fist to fight the hunger that’s rearing its ugly head again. _Just one taste…_ it shrieks, and he listens. _Just a single, little…_

Suddenly your eyes open.

He stares at your face, frozen, unable to react. His mind is alarmingly empty, even when you already sit up, pulling the knife from underneath the pillow, angling it back with the blade outwards, your gaze darkening in outrage. Yet you don’t strike, simply eye him warily, your mouth twisting in repulsion.

    “Come to finish what you started?” you say quietly, your heaving chest the only thing betraying your inner fear. He doesn’t reply immediately. With every sense he possesses, with every eon of experience he scans you, tries furiously to understand how you managed, again, to become aware of his presence! This wasn’t supposed to be possible!

    “Interesting…” he mumbles involuntarily, noticing the confusion on your face, yet the wariness stays, always vigilant.

    “What?” you utter, scrutinizing him. Then you seem to notice that the blanket is gone and pull it back over your naked legs with a hiss. “Hey, what the hell?! Pervert!” He watches you tightly wrapping yourself up in the silken comforter, glowering at him once you’re done. When he still doesn’t do or say anything, you huff, annoyed, and flop back into the pillows, keeping the knife in front of you. “Do you actually want something or not? If not, I had a very exhausting night and could really use some shut-eye, thank you very mu-"

With a snap from his fingers the blanket disappears in a puff of smoke, laying you bare once more and now, finally, fear widens your eyes and shuts you up. Before you can even gasp, his shadow tendrils have wrapped around your limbs and neck, pulling you up to your knees and towards the edge of the bed until you’re kneeling in front of him on the mattress, the fear on your face turning to terror. Blackhat smirks.

    “How you can still be so flippant in such a vulnerable position is _beyond_ my comprehension. That is not meant to be a compliment, by the way.” He rasps, grabbing your chin gently with his thumb and index, lifting your face a little. Your throat is working against the tight clutch of a tentacle, the pulse in your carotid drumming a frantic beat under its grasp. Blackhat licks his lips. He can’t really decide what to do to you, so many delectable options that would leave you utterly wrecked, both physically and mentally, maybe even spiritually if he really wanted to. But then a particular idea springs to mind, so foul he has to hide his grin. He knows how you will react to most forms of torture, and they wouldn’t have the desired effect anyway. After all, he’s out to get you to surrender your soul willingly to him, without running the risk of getting injured by it again. He still has no idea what he’s supposed to do if you got something like active control over it, and he doesn’t want to find out the bad way.

You say nothing and just return his gaze with silent, smoldering fury in your glinting eyes, waiting for what may come next. Another tendril removes itself from his shadow, snaking its way up your bare thigh and around the inside, making your breath hitch in your throat. He picks up the quickening of your heartbeat and allows himself to grin slowly as the appendage slips higher and underneath the hem of the shirt, the tip grazing your sex. With a quick, wolfish smirk he comments wordlessly on your refusal to wear the lingerie he supplied your dresser with. Now you gasp and flinch against the iron hold, tucking your head in. But he tuts in disapproval and raises your chin back up, his grip now a lot less gentle.

    “Look at me.” He orders, his voice adamant. Another tentacle joins the first one, quickly rubbing hard circles over your clit, making you twitch and shudder in return. Your pupils dilate despite the furious glare you pierce him with, lips parting to get more oxygen. He just watches, unmoved, slowly but surely letting his shadow-tendrils wind you up more and more, observing your approaching climax. You clench your teeth but the little sighs of pleasure escape you nonetheless and your face flushes in both shame and arousal down to your chest. His thumb moves from your chin to your lips, stroking them, wanting to see them pop and bleed for him. When your hips rock into the touch of his tentacles and he feels you tensing up, he abruptly pulls them away and out of your reach, grinning widely at the despairing look on your face.

    “Something wrong, love?” he inquires lowly, giving you a raised eyebrow. You bare your teeth in anger but then apparently try to rein your fury in, taking a deep breath and shaking your head against the tendril's grip.

    “Not at all.” You reply, still a little breathless. Oh please, if you thought he would let that deter him you were dead wrong. This was only the beginning! Blackhat smiles down upon you.

    “Good.” Then the tentacles return but this time they tease the center of your physical lust only every few strokes, moving away again and again and this time you jerk your hips around in frustration way sooner, sweat forming on your forehead. He keeps this up for a whole while, he can stretch this out all night to get you where he wants you to be. By now you’re writhing and squirming in his clutches, every muscle taut trying to get friction somehow! You might not remember, but your body does recall the pleasure he had let it experience before, that single night almost enough to condition it into yearning for his touch, even with the alcohol clouding your senses. He had that effect on mortals if he wished, and in some cases it was useful to get what he wanted from them. You were proving to be quite the special case, but he wasn’t one to turn down a good challenge.

    “Fuck!” Your hissed curse jerks him from his musing and pulls him back into the present moment. His gaze focuses on your face again, noticing that you closed your eyes somewhere in between. The hand on your jaw grabs tightly.

    “ _What did I tell you_?” He snaps, dropping his voice into that demonic growl you seem to have a fancy for and, sure enough, you gasp out a real moan now, shivering. Reflexively your eyes shoot up to his, round and wide, your resolve gaining cracks. He brushes his thumb over your lips again and suddenly you take a snap at it, trapping it between your teeth. His raised brow is one of honest surprise this time around. But you don’t bite down to crush his thumb, and if you had he wouldn’t hesitate to bite off one of your hands in return to  teach you a lesson. Yet you keep a sharp pressure on his digit, never averting your glare. Slowly he pushes his thumb deeper into your mouth, feeling your tongue arch against it in response. When you suck, he rewards you with a long, undulating drag of the tentacles between your legs, almost enough to make your eyes flutter shut again. Blackhat feels his own desire stirring despite himself and is once more taken aback by this strange, opposing power you seem to possess without even being aware of it and that you shouldn’t even have in the first place.

He focuses on working you up again, letting the tendrils slip back and forth and around your clitoris in purposeful, firm strokes that make you suck harder, your saliva drenching the fabric of his glove, and a low growls vibrates in his chest and down to the tentacles. You keen highly around his thumb in your mouth, eyes begging him to please finish you as your orgasm builds once more, your loins tensing harder already. Blackhat doesn’t allow his face to betray his intentions and when you’re almost there, almost close enough to plunge over the edge, he vanishes entirely. Yet even from outside the door he can hear your frustrated scream of disbelief, the wicked grin finally able to break through the mask of his unmoved face.

Now he just had to wait.

 

You throw yourself back into the linens, pounding your fists on the mattress and cursing viciously into the darkness, your body almost screaming louder than you can.

    “God-fucking son of a bitch, top hat wearing _motherfucker_!” you wail, your breath a hissing stream of hot air. Without even thinking about it your hands shoot down your form, quickly touching yourself, burying the fingers of your other hand knuckle-deep inside your hot, disgracefully wet folds, three at a time, and you moan at the flash of pleasure reigniting like a kick-started engine. You’re not gentle, you’re desperate and brutal, rubbing and thrusting until you finally, mercifully come, mewling at the intensity of your orgasm and arching off the bed, filled with bliss. Yet, while you’re not even close to coming down, you feel like it’s not enough, not what it could have been. When you realize what you have just thought, another hoarse string of curses erupts from your chest and you grab the knife you dropped to throw it at one of his portraits on the wall, missing your target by a good foot and hearing the knife clutter harmlessly to the floor. Then you slump, exhausted, limbs feeling weak and useless, your hammering heartbeat visible in your chest. There’s a tinnitus in both your ears from the blood pressure, lightheadedness dampening your raging fury so much that you just decide to stay lying down. If Blackhat left you this desperate on purpose he probably had a bigger motive behind it other than just, well, screwing with you. Was he trying to get you to thirst after a good fuck with him?! Fat chance! If you were _that_ needy you could always head out into the city and hook up with someone way lovelier at a bar!

    “Stupid asshat thinks he can play me like a damn fiddle.” You growl, crawling over to the pillow to lie down and finally get some rest. Then you realize that the blanket is still gone. You vent a long, tired sigh. “I hate you… so, so much, boss.” When you try to get out of the bed your knees immediately give way under you and you slump down on the carpet, holding on to the bed-post, groaning. You’re a _mess_. You give your poor legs a minute to recover before you slowly hoist yourself up and stagger over to the armoire. There had to be some spare blankets or sheets in there somewhere, right?

There are not.

 

-

 

The rising sunlight falls on a vast expanse of heavy velvet curtains, single fingers of red filtered light finding their way through the folds, raising dust particles with their warmth. Yet one window allows the full force of the sun to illuminate the gloomy room, the missing curtain draped over the king sized bed like the train of a dress, fanning out to the sides. You’re already awake, still not really rested, but finding gleeful satisfaction in your little art installation. Comfortably blanketed by the heavy crimson fabric, you feel like a queen. You may or may not even consider wearing this as a morning robe to parade down the stairs, dragging the four meter long curtain all the way after you. The thought is even hilarious enough to almost lift your sour mood from the night before. Almost.

With a sigh you fling back the curtain you had managed to yank down from the curtain-pole after discovering you had been left without a blanket or spare sheets, and walk into your bathroom. A loud snoring stops you dead in your tracks, your hand cramping around the brass handle. The source of the noise is easily discovered:

    “How… _when_ did she even get in here?!” you whisper to yourself, stunned, and stare at the curled up mountain of matted green hair in the bathtub, smelling the used bath bomb only at the edge of your consciousness. Then dread claws at your innards, making you pale. Had she already been in here when Blackhat woke you up?! Had she _heard_?! You sink against the doorframe, your face doing the exact opposite of what it had been doing a second ago and you feel like a chameleon yourself at the rapid change of color in your skin. But then you take a moment to think, the calm, regular sound of her snoring not really fitting into your horror-scenario. Moreover, _you_ are still breathing, too, right? If Dem had actually overheard any of what had taken place in the night, she would have killed you instantly without first taking a nice long nap in your tub. So, you owe your life, again, to Blackhat’s paralyzing bath additives.

A groan escapes you, a sound of utter done-ness, and you drag your feet over to the sink to wash your face and brush your teeth. You wonder how Void is doing and if you’re even going to get a chance to talk to him in private, preferably without Blackhat eavesdropping. It’s still a mystery to you why you hadn’t noticed his presence at all during the heist, and then wake up in the middle of the night because you had _sensed_ him staring at you, which he obviously had not expected. Oh yes, you had seen that look on his face, that surprised widening of his eye and the slight twitch around his mouth. You had spent years, literally two _decades_ , trying to see through Sans' deceiving, permanent skeleton-grin to hopefully predict his next outburst, so reading Blackhat’s facial expression was relatively easy in comparison. But that was already everything _easy_ about dealing with him.

The movement behind you doesn’t even make you flinch at this point, you’ve calmed down enough to not react suspiciously around Dementia again, and since you had taken a shower before getting to bed, you’re fairly confident that none of her _hubby’s_ smell is still clinging to your skin this time. The only thing you smell like has to be entirely _you_ , since he hadn’t even touched you himself but let his shadow tentacles do all the dirty work. You shudder involuntarily at the memory. With a loud yawn and the splashing of water, Dementia rises from your bathtub, stretching languidly and smacking her lips. You envy her beyond anything right now. What you wouldn’t give for just one undisturbed night of sleep!

    “Mohin', Jem" you mouth around the toothbrush and wave at her in the mirror. She grins back and shakes her body like a dog, pelting your naked legs with ice cold water droplets. You jump at the freezing temperature and wheel around to her, protesting wordlessly. Dementia cackles, making a huge step with her long legs to get out of the tub, throwing her wet mass of hair back over her shoulder and whipping a foot wide spray of water across your face and the mirror behind you. Luckily you closed your eyes in time and feel the cold, black drops running down your face to drench the shirt you slept in. Spitting the mouth full of toothpaste into the sink, you turn back around to her and wipe your face with the other hand.

    “Thanks, but I already washed my face.” You grouse. Dem snickers and flicks a finger against your nose.

    “Ya missed a spot!” she chimes before twirling back around and stretching once more. You’re really not surprised to see she’s slept in her every day outfit. “Aaah that was amazing, I slept like a baby!”

    “Good for you.” You grumble, unable to keep the grumpiness out of your voice, and finish brushing your teeth. Suddenly Dementia is all up in your grill, poking your arm until you look at her. “What?!” you snap. She just rolls her eyes and keeps poking you.

    “Soooo?” she lilts and you tense immediately, sensing danger. Yet you manage to make a clueless face and shrug. Now she clucks her tongue against her fangs. “How did your first job go, nerd?! Did you complete the mission? How many heroes did you kill?!” _Oh thank God, she is just being nosy about the heist_. Despite your bad mood you grin.

    “I did indeed complete the mission and I killed my first hero. Plus I totally saved Void’s ass so, yeah. Was pretty awesome.” But Dementia gives you a disappointed moue.

    “Aww just one? Booooring!” You can’t help but snort, bumping her away with your hip.

    “Hey, fuck you, there _was_ only one there! And he had superpowers! Man you should have seen it… I dunno what that was! Lots of lightning… tore right through one of Void’s black holes without a scratch! He had a spear and everything, it was crazy!” At least she seems a little more interested now, listening to your story with excitement in her mismatched eyes, so you start from  the beginning.

 

-

 

Half an hour later, you have managed to get at least one “Hell yeah!” out of Dementia (namely when you told her how exactly you had killed the hero) and satisfied her curiosity enough to leave you in peace and get dressed. This time you had chosen a high-waisted pair of dark grey slacks and an open, crimson button up shirt that you tied together across your stomach over a black top with the sleeves rolled up. You hate it, but you’re beginning to _like_ the clothes in that dresser, maybe even the lacy panties and bralettes. That thought causes a sudden twist in your abdomen, along with a heated flush shooting through your cheeks and you stop in the middle of the stairway to calm the hell down! Yet your thoughts have already conjured up that particular moment of last night, unbidden; the nasty, predatory grin when Blackhat had been able to have some more access to your private parts without any barrier hindering him. Not that any of the wispy underwear would have made a big difference though. You force your quickened pulse down with a few calm breaths before you continue to trot down the stairs. You could take the elevator all the way to the lab but you felt like moving around a little, if only to figure out what the hell you were going to say to Void about Blackhat without Flug getting suspicious, but now you had an excuse why you were a little short of breath, too.

    “Hey, doc.” You greet Flug once you’ve found him in the laboratory and he looks up from behind the high stacked columns of paper on his desk, waving back at you with a tired sigh.

    “Oh, it’s just you, _______, I thought…” but then he shakes his head and stretches until his spindly back cracks dangerously. You look over the various crusted rings of coffee stains littering his desk, scrunching up your nose. The papers he’s working on contain a lot of bureaucratic verbiage, a lot more than you’re comfortable with and you quickly ask him where Void is to not keep him from work for too long. “He’s in the medical care room, the second door on the right down the hall.” Flug mumbles, already poring over his workload again, checking the screen of a computer now and then, his eyes behind the thick glasses squinted and strained. His left hand abandons its position on the keyboard to grab the mug standing next to him, reading “World’s Greatest Pilot", but before you can say anything the evil scientist has to learn that he’s all out of bean juice. With a defeated sigh he places the mug down again, going back to work. You quietly leave through the door, but instead of heading deeper into the underground lab you jog back up the stairs and take a right to the kitchen.

Five minutes later you place a steaming new cup of coffee in front of Flug and now he flinches in surprise, uttering a happy noise before his eyes narrow at you.

    “You’re way too nice, you know?” he comments and stares, suspicious, into the cup but already removes the straw from his old mug to take a sip, wincing at the temperature. You prop a hand on your hip, scowling.

    “I believe what you were _trying_ to say is: thank you ______ for being so nice to me and for not being an asshole like Dementia or the boss and, let’s say, push over all these papers here!” Saying this, you poke one of the highest towers with a finger, causing the precariously balanced stack to sway. Flug shrieks and reaches for it with both hands.

    “Nonono- thankyou_______forbeingsonicetome!!!!” he hurries to sputter and you nimbly stop the mountain from over-balancing, grinning at him as he slouches over the desk in relief.

    “Why thank you Dr. Flug, I do what I can.” And with a snicker you saunter out the lab and down the hall to the medical care room. Void answers furtively when you knock, no doubt expecting Blackhat or Flug. He visibly relaxes when you slip through the sliding door and wave at him.

    “Hey _______...” he murmurs, his voice a little hoarse and sounding like he’s still fighting the pain. You snort back at him, tipping two fingers against your temple.

    “Howdy pardner.” You drawl in your best tex accent, a habit you picked up during your former gang life and that you kept only because it had annoyed Papyrus to hell and back. Void huffs a voiceless laughter, sitting up in his bed. A huge bandage is wrapped around his head and another one covers his entire bare torso up to the chest. A needle is stuck in the crook of his arm, connected to an IV stand. You walk up to the bed and make a face. “You doing okay?” you ask, more serious now, not really sure what to say or how to broach the real subject of your interest. You’re glad to see him up; his tanned, olive skin is still a little grey from pain and blood loss, but at least he has stopped fainting every five minutes. Void shrugs his shoulders, wincing a little, and his left hand twitches to his side.

    “I’ll live. Thanks to you. I… didn’t think I’d get out of there alive, not after that spear got me.” His dark eyes move from the blanket to your face and he blushes a little. “Thank you, _______. You saved my life.” His gaze is so intense that yours darts to the ground immediately and you scuff your feet on the floor.

    “Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m too nice…” you blurt out in a weak attempt to make a joke and he snorts in amusement.

    “You sure are, but I won’t complain. Did you give the artifact to Lord Blackhat?” he replies and now you can’t hide the color rising to your own face as you quickly nod.

   “Y- yeah, I did.” Then you fall silent, gnawing on your lip. Void leans back with a sigh, not noticing your tizzy.

    “Guess I have to congratulate you for killing your first hero. Or was that your first kill at all?” he asks. You shake your head.

    “Not the first kill, no. But the first one I didn’t feel like shit afterwards.” You add without thinking, causing Void to groan.

    “You _really_ should watch out what you say around this place. Not exactly an attitude that's going to benefit your career here. Anyone else would have snitched on you by now, even if they owed you _this_ big.” He manages a weak laugh before his head slumps against the headrest, his hands closing into tight fists.

    “Hey, Void, are you alright?!” you ask, a bit worried. The supervillain swallows but nods faintly. Then he takes a breath as if to say something, pauses, and opens his eyes a tiny slit to look at you.

    “Vijay.” He just mumbles. You raise an eyebrow in confusion.

    “What-"

    “My real name. It’s Vijay. Figured you deserved to know. You… you didn’t just save my life in that museum, you also killed one of my most relentless enemies. With only a _knife_.” A small smile tugs on his lips yet the look from his eyes is a little cloudy, glazed over. Now you frown.

    “What, you mean Elvis the Pelvis?” Void suddenly starts laughing so hard and loud you almost jump back. His white hair falls into his face and when he sits back up you see tears glinting in the corners of his eyes. He struggles for air and holds his side, groaning and laughing at the same time.

    “Oh shit…” he wheezes. “That- that's genius! Elvis the-" another fit of giggles interrupts him. “His name was actually Centurio! Damn, why didn’t I think of that before? Now I wish we could resurrect him to haul that at his ugly mug!” He gives you a wide grin that you return crookedly, still a bit taken aback by his outburst. But then his grin drops and he looks away, a hard expression suddenly clouding his face. “You… heard what he said, right? About me…” You raise your eyebrow again.

    “I thought you had passed out after that kick?” When he shakes his head you drop your own gaze and gnaw on your lip. “I did… it- it was part of why I rushed the asshole without thinking twice. But I get it, V, I really do.” When you look back into his face there’s a sad, lopsided smile on it that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

    “Oh yeah? You don’t look like the type to shoot up and shit yourself in a dirty alley, totally stoned out of your mind.” He says lightly but the words themselves hit you like a physical slap. You widen your eyes in shock and embarrassment, feeling every bit like the idiot that you are. But before you can say anything, Void, or rather Vijay, waves you off. “Hey, don’t stress, I know what you were trying to say. Remember what I told you about my parents? That they died because the local hero decided he’d look much cooler trying to stop the train himself rather than first getting the people off the tracks?” he hadn’t really told you all those details before but the cold hatred in his voice keeps you from doing anything but nodding. He shrugs. “I was ten at the time and ended up on the streets after they were gone. Had no other family members. Hooked up with the wrong people and they hooked me up with the wrong drugs. I don’t know how I lasted years like this… I was more dead than alive when I heard rumors about a cult. But not just any cult. They said you could get everything your heart desired from the entity they worshipped. Riches, powers beyond your imagination…”

A cold shiver runs down your arms and neck and you can already tell just whose cult it must have been. Vijay's voice is distant while he talks, like he’s trying to protect his mind from the surfacing memories.

 

-

 

At first he had planned to sneak into the hidden room in an abandoned subway-tunnel to maybe boost some cash. Cults had cash right? His skin was itching, the withdrawal symptoms by now almost enough to drive him mad. Shit, he’d give everything for just half a gram of Black Hole and check out for a few hours, every-fucking-thing! And if the cult didn’t have any money stashed away he could always try to chat up one of the cultists outside and maybe get some cash the usual way. He hated the usual way, but he hated being without drugs even more.

But then, when he had managed to sneak inside behind the last hooded figure in tattered robes, he was too stunned, too enthralled, to think about sacking some cash to shoot up. He couldn’t tell what it was that captivated him so much. Was it the loaded atmosphere, the feeling of static energy hovering over the assembly? Was it the guttural, foreign sing-song of the cultists in a language that made his skin crawl from something else than jonesing*? Or… maybe it had really been the object of their fervor itself: the black top hat with the red hatband in their midst, surrounded by a circle of black candles, their tiny flames the only light source in the dank and stuffed room. The chanting grew louder and more insistent and he caught himself muttering along with them, bloodshot eyes glued to the hat, unable to look away. And suddenly, with a horrible shockwave moving the air around him, the distinct feeling of a presence filled the room, suffocating in its weight, its malicious energy, forcing him to kneel like the cultists around him. The candles guttered, their light dwindling and yet, somehow, they were casting a dark shadow onto the wall, in front of which the hat sat on the barren concrete floor. The shadow was pitch black, an angular shape that rose and rose up the concrete, and Vijay thought he could make out the silhouette of a man, dressed in a high collared coat or suit, wearing a top hat. He shot a look over his shoulder to the door, but it was closed shut and nobody stood in front of it. His hackles rose and he clawed at the hard ground but could only watch, in terror, as a wide grin appeared within the solid shadow. And when an eldritch voice spoke, demanding the sacrifice to be presented, he almost fainted.

Cowering on the dusty floor, he watched, his withdrawal symptoms forgotten, the drugs and the money forgotten. The ritual commenced and the sacrifice – a bald man crying with manic joy, thanking his brothers and sisters for choosing him, _him_ , to be the sacrifice – was brought forth through the ranks of cultists and pushed to his knees before the hat. The followers quickly retreated from the man, their faces both fearful and enraptured, save for a smaller one who stayed standing behind the sacrifice, a blade flashing in his grasp. With one swift slash he opened the palm of his free hand and let the welling blood drip on the kneeling man’s head.

    “Oh Lord of all Evil, greatest Villain of all, take this humble sacrifice and grant us the power to slay those who wronged you and your name! Dark One, Chaos Embodied, Hatted Horror, I beseech you!” his devout, deep voice grew into a shout. “Take this sacrifice, and grant me your powers, so that I may crush the fools that want to keep us in the dark!”

Vijay was shaking with excitement and held his breath during the following silence like everyone else in the room. Only the sacrifice was breathing, loud and rapid. Then a low, entirely evil laughter echoed through the small chamber, its reverberations so palpable he felt like it was turning the remains of his poor brain into a liquid. A collective moan went through the files of cultists, a few of those in the front fainted with a strangled noise. The disembodied voice sounded pleased:

    “I accept your offering.”

The sacrifice sobbed out a relieved cry and in the next second the ring of candles flared up in a firestorm, engulfing the hat and the man in front of it, the heat strong enough to even curl the hairs on Vijay’s arms. Still he couldn’t move, could only stare at the man, laughing as the fire consumed him. At the same time the priest cried out, his body doubling over and becoming caught in an unearthly glow. His dirty, bare feet lifted off the floor by an unholy power. With a second shockwave the lights went out and utter darkness enveloped the room.

    “Light a candle, my children.” The priest spoke from the blackness, his voice hoarse but calm and steady. A few lighters snapped on, little candles lit up one by one until it was bright enough to see again. Vijay stood, craning his neck to see what was going on in the front. The top hat was still sitting in the half circle of candles, untouched by the flames that had whirled around it not even a minute ago. Yet, the same could not be said about the sacrifice: a small pile of ashes and bones was all the fire had left of him. The cultists murmured their farewells, but soon they turned to their priest, eyes wide in expectancy.

For a second Vijay thought his eyes were lying to him, that he was hallucinating, but the previously scrawny man had grown at least a foot in height and two around his shoulders, his entire body transformed to almost inhuman proportions. He raised his hands, now massive and meaty with veins bulging on their backs like worms, the cut in his palm healed. He turned around to his flock, throwing the hood back, revealing a terribly deformed face. The group of cultists recoiled in unison but the priest held up a hand to calm them. “Do not be afraid my children. Though our Lord and Master has taken my human form, he has bestowed me with _this_!” And his entire, huge frame went up in green flames that did not harm him but obeyed his every command, melting solid concrete in a matter of seconds. The cultists rejoiced and missed in their celebrations how Vijay slipped through the door and into the night, the black top hat clutched in his arms.

* * *

*Jonesing (slang): to suffer from severe withdrawal symptoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much yet again, this story really has become a big part of my life and I'm so honored yall are enjoying our reader's misadventures 💕💕💕 I might take a break over the Christmas holidays to spend some time with my (neglected) family and friends but I also have something.... special in mind for that... 
> 
> So yall better be good little children if you don't want to find a piece of coal in yer top hats!! 😆 
> 
> **Next update on the 1st of December!!**


	30. Terrible Things

_You try to imagine just how horrible someone must be that your boss would enjoy their company. Gleaming eyes promptly dart down to you, and their own grin widens._

    _Don’t tell me that’s another one of those Outer Gods, you think in a flash of panic._

 

### 30\. Terrible Things

 

 

_It wasn’t working! Why wasn’t it working?!_

Vijay covered his face in his hands and rocked back and forth in helpless desperation, a thin, hoarse wail the only sound tearing from his throat. The black top hat with the red band seemed to mock him, sitting lifelessly on the moldy cardboard box he had turned into a makeshift altar to summon the demon, or God, or whatever the entity was which the cultists had managed to call upon. He knew the incantation, the words were virtually branded into the sorry remains of his brain. But deep inside him he already knew why it wasn’t working. He had yet to present a sacrifice, a live one presumably. Vijay stared through his clawing fingers, his eyes haunted and red, but the strain came from something other than drugs for a change. Now the popped blood vessels were the result of looking, unmoving, at the hat for hours with nothing but dim candlelight to illuminate the narrow cellar room in an abandoned building he had claimed for himself. Stealing and foraging enough candles alone was proving to be a challenge, and above all he had to make sure the furious mob of cultists searching the gutters for their precious hat would not find him.

He bit his crusted lips open, gnawing on the flaky skin while his thoughts ran helter skelter like a swarm of trapped rats. He had to get a sacrifice. He just had to succeed. If there was any chance to change this hell that was his life, the Hatted Horror would be able to provide it. But only if he took this _serious_ already!

 

The sacrifice was screaming his lungs out under the gag, but nothing more than a muffled moan escaped the dirty rags in his mouth. Vijay was still breathing heavily, from the struggle with the drifter and from his own nervous excitement. He took a look around the room, checked his preparations. The half circle of black candles, the black top hat in their midst. And the squirming, bound sacrifice that stared at him with horror in his watery eyes. Or rather, at the blade in his hand.

    “Get up.” Vijay ordered, his voice only a tensed hiss. The bound man shook his head and cried out when he got kicked in return. “Get on your knees!” he shouted at the sacrifice. Now the man obeyed, struggling to scramble to his knees until he grabbed him and pulled him up. The poor bastard had pissed himself and was shaking all over. But not for much longer now… Vijay dragged the blade over his palm, wincing at the pain but held it out over the drifter's head and clenched it into a fist despite the burn to let the blood pour. The red drops looked black in the dark room.

“Oh Lord of all Evil,” Vijay began, his voice growing steadier with every word, “greatest Villain of all, take this humble sacrifice and grant me the power to slay those who wronged you and your name! Dark One, Chaos Embodied, Hatted Horror, I beseech you! Take this sacrifice, and grant me your powers, so that I may crush the fools that want to keep us in the dark!” he screamed the last words and before the ringing in his own ears had subsided, a shockwave all but threw him to the ground. He cried out in disbelief and shock, his eyes glued to the shadow on the water-stained wall, the grin beneath the top hat’s brim that split the pitch black shape open in a wide crescent. The feeling of suffocation constricted around his throat and a tiny, forgotten part of his mind told him that this was wrong, that it was _evil_ and wrong, but then the presence spoke, paralyzing Vijay where he knelt. The gagged man in front of him had sunken to the floor, unconscious.

    “Well, well, well…” the shadow rumbled, the voice sounding so unearthly and horrible that he felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Yet he noticed the curiosity in its alien hiss, the silent intrigue. “Look what we have here. A rotten thief it would seem. You dare to remove my relic from the cult devoted to serve me?” the booming intensity of its anger was almost enough to make him lose his mind, but Vijay forced himself to nod, now shaking just as badly as the sacrifice had.

    “Speak, worm!” the voice bellowed, each word like the crack of thunder and he shrieked out:

    “I did! Yes, I took the hat from your cult m- my Lord and Master, but p- please, look, I- I didn’t mean any disrespect, I only want-"

A loud, roaring laughter rang through the small space. When the entity spoke again it sounded clearly amused:

   “Mwahahahar… ah, of course, you mortals always _want_ for something. But tell me, human: why in Hell should I grant you any wishes? You have nothing in your possession that _I_ might want in return!” In a matter of seconds the voice had switched to a rolling growl of irritation, making Vijay pale in mortal fear. He pointed weakly to the man on the ground.

   “B-b-but… the sacrifice I- I thought you-“ – “What?” the Hatted Horror snapped, interrupting his stammering. “You think I will just accept any bloody carcass thrown before my feet?! That you can offer me, Lord Blackhat, the foul trash you find in the gutter?! I would take your soul and be done with this but you don’t even have a soul that interests me!” And with a flash of green light Blackhat vanished, snuffing out the candles as his presence receded. In the darkness Vijay listened to his own, frantic sobs.

 

He tried again and again to summon the Lord of all Evil and get him to accept the sacrifice, took to kidnapping wealthier people leaving the clubs of the uptown city at night. He tried young women, older women, even a teenager at one time. But every time the entity laughed at his pitiful attempts and vanished again, leaving him mad with despair. Vijay didn’t notice how his black hair soon turned long and wild and an almost snow white, he only cared about figuring out what he could possibly offer the one called Blackhat in exchange for a better life. Yet nothing he presented was ever acceptable, but the fact alone that the Hatted Horror allowed to be summoned by him every single time kept his hope up. And the rejected sacrifices? He couldn’t let them go, not when they knew his face and most importantly where he was hiding. Luckily the room across from his had a heavy door that kept the worst of the stench locked away.

Months had passed and Vijay was now so weak he could barely stay conscious. He wasn’t even able anymore to abduct sacrifices, not even the drunkest hobos; the last person had beaten him up badly and managed to escape, taking the knife from him. With a broken hand and swollen face he had stumbled back to his hideout, sank down to the floor in front of the hat and cried until he didn’t even have tears left. Then he picked up a glass shard lying in a corner and cut over a new patch of skin on his forearm. The rest of his arms and hands was too scarred and infected from the previous rituals to risk cutting them again. He sliced open both arms for more blood – he barely had any left to give – and knelt before the circle of candles where the ground was covered in a thick crust of dried blood. His dry lips moved fervently, mumbling the lines of the incantation, his eyes shutting again and again. He didn’t even flinch anymore when Blackhat appeared, didn’t even realize that the Hatted Horror stood before him in the flesh this time and not as an incorporeal shadow. Vijay looked up and into the dark, ashen face, returning the glare out of a single, bone-white eye with a lance shaped pupil, his own eyes glazed over from the fever raging through his body. The horrible grin revealed sharp, enormous teeth that glowed green in the dim room.

    “I have to say, I am impressed by your determination, boy.” Blackhat rasped, clasping his hands on his back. “I was sure you would be dead by now or caught for your heinous murders, weak as your pathetic little rituals have left you. But maybe it’s not resolve but _despair_ alone that keeps you going, hm?” His eye narrowed at the human and the monocle on the other side flashed briefly. Vijay raised his bleeding arms.

    “Please…” he whispered, his voice broken and paper thin. Blackhat’s mouth curled in repulsion.

    “Bah! I told you a thousand times, you have nothing I would want, and now you don’t even have a sacrifice for me! I should just kill you but that would be mercy, and I don’t do _mercy_.” He chuckled and was already about to vanish, when Vijay’s hand shot forward, grabbing the tail of his black coat. The temperature in the stuffy room suddenly dropped by at least 20 degree and a low growl rumbled through the Lord’s bared teeth, already gaining volume.

    “If I have nothing to give you… then I will _do_ whatever you want me to. Whatever…” he took a shuddering breath, swallowing, “ _whatever_ it takes to make you accept my sacrifice and grant me...” The rest of his vow petered out in a hoarse whisper. And Blackhat stayed the hand he had lifted to annihilate this impertinent gutter-rat. His grin returned with full force.

    “Whatever it takes?” he repeated and eyed the young, emaciated man kneeling before him, the dirty hand that was still curled in the fabric of his coat. Vijay nodded slowly, feebly.

    “Yes, sir.” He breathed back, feverish eyes losing their focus for a second. Of course Blackhat knew nearly everything there was to know about his new little acolyte by now. He knew of the hatred he harbored in his depraved soul, the desire for revenge, smothered only by his own inability and powerlessness, and the years of drug abuse. Especially that one called…

    “And in return? Let’s say I would want you to never summon me again, what would you like in exchange?” he probed and watched a look of confusion creasing Vijay’s brow.

    “I… I want your powers… like- like the ones you gave that priest?” he uttered, now a little clearer. His dark eyes flashed all of a sudden. “I… I want _to make him pay_!” _Good._

    “Well then…” With that Blackhat raised both his hands and twisted his fingers into sharp talons. The guttering flames of the candles roared to new life as he called upon the dark forces, the deepest secrets of the universe themselves and manipulated them to his whim, catching a star, crushing it, channeling the resulting power of its death into the addict's essence and merging them together, defying the laws of physics. Vijay gave a shout of start that soon grew into an agonized cry of pain as the unearthly energy was forced into his body. For a second it looked like the vessel would tear from the sheer power. But it didn’t and Blackhat nodded at his work in satisfaction. The young man slumped to the ground, shaking in violent bursts.

    “There. I gave you what you asked for. Now stop whimpering and _show_ me what you can do with these… powers!” And with a bellowing laughter he vanished, leaving Vijay trembling on the floor, purple threads of lightning flashing over his body.

 

-

 

    “So…” you ask faintly and clear your throat to get the scratching out of your voice. Vijay’s expression had never once betrayed any emotion while he was talking but your eyes are wide with shock by now and you feel terribly cold in the sterile room. At one point during his story you had sunken down on the edge of the narrow medical bed, unable to stand anymore. “What- what did you do then?”

A short chuckle erupts through the harsh line of his lips. Your eyes dart down to the bandages he always keeps wrapped around his forearms, shivering now that you know the reason behind them. Void raises one hand to run his fingers through the wild mane of white hair.

    “When I came to again I felt incredible. I felt… for once in my life I didn’t feel _weak_ and helpless. Like I still had to _take_ everything life was throwing at me. I just went into the city and unleashed hell, laid everything to waste with my new powers. I didn’t even try to control them, heh, as if I would have been able to… There was a black hole the size of an entire block in the sky, sucking everything and everyone into the void, except me. Of course that didn’t go unnoticed and before I knew it, there he was… the hero who had caused the death of my parents. Older, but unmistakably the vainglorious bastard from back then. He went on some bloated speech but I didn’t hear a word of it… I’m surprised I even remember any of this so clearly, I was completely out of it. Couldn’t tell if I was feeling the power or the raging pain in my body anymore.”

Vijay falters for a second to catch his breath and clear his throat. You keep staring at him, spellbound, your heart hammering away in your chest.

    “Did you kill him?” You breathe out. Now he snorts and shoots you a grin. It’s the first time he looked at you in what feels like an hour.

    “Fuck yeah I did! Didn’t even let him finish his stupid monologue! I summoned two black holes right next to him and they tore him apart, it was insane!” He notices you flinching and the grin drops instantly, an uncomfortable silence hanging over the room. But then you nudge his leg with your knee.

    “What happened then?” Vijay pales a little as the memory surfaces.

    “Blackhat came back once the chaos was over… I was just sitting there among the rubble, the entire city nothing but a destroyed wasteland. He looked around and I could see how much he liked what I had done with the place.” Another dry chuckle. “Then? He offered me a deal. He would train me himself to become a supervillain, gain access to his products, his academy, his _network_ , all that jazz. And all of that for the price of my soul. I didn’t even let him finish explaining and signed immediately. He could have killed me, or rather leave me to rot. And yet he took me in and made me who I am today. I don’t… I don’t know if my parents would be proud of the things I did or the person I have become just to avenge them but… beats dying in a gutter don’t you think?”

You nod weakly. There’s nothing to argue against that. Even if Void the supervillain had probably killed thousands and thousands of innocent people, Vijay the gutter-rat, the orphan, had given more than anyone you knew to escape hell on earth, a hell he had not done anything to deserve in the first place, and paid the ultimate price for clawing his way out of it.

“So… that’s kinda the reason why I was such an ass to you when we first met, and before the heist, you know?” he interrupts your thoughts and it’s the sheepish tone in his voice that makes you frown in sudden confusion.

    “Huh?” you utter, shaking your head since you don’t know how that would explain him being a douche to you. You had thought it was just his personality, his damn pride as a villain, superior to you in every regard. Vijay’s grey face gets a bit more color back.

    “Oh come on! I just told you my tragic backstory- Look. When Lord Blackhat told me that he was… ugh I shouldn’t tell you but he’s gonna tear me a new one for that slip-up anyway! Just- when I heard that you basically just popped up out of nowhere and immediately got into the organization- got his _mark_ for crying out loud, without having to.. “ he suddenly can’t seem to say it out loud, struggles with his own anger but you begin to realize what he’s trying to tell you. “Just like that, without even doing _anything_ , I…” he lifts his head and the dark eyes pierce yours with a brief flash of intense emotion. “God I hated your _guts_ when I first saw you. What made you so special that he took you in immediately? You have no magical abilities, no super powers, shit you’re not even really _evil_ or a sick genius like Flug! But…” his voice loses the bitter tone and even his eyes turn more mellow. “You did save my life by killing Centurio and you got me out despite all that. And you helped me get the artifact. So, I’m glad you’re working for Blackhat.”

You just sit there, frozen. It all makes sense now, even why Lady Naga straight up tried to murder you, and that had not been part of any scheme by Blackhat. All those villains, they probably had fought tooth and nails to even get into the organization as _paying_ members. And you? Was it really just your SOUL Blackhat wanted? Was it really that special that you didn’t have to prove you would go to the length Void had to earn your stay? Were you just here to end up as a fancy dessert for this soul-snatching horror in a hat?!

    “I, uh…” you mumble, thoughts all over the place. “He’s been going on and on about me making a fine villain one day, yeah… but…” you bite your lips, not sure what you should tell him or how much, or if you should even say anything at all. Vijay gives you an inquisitive look, then his eyes widen ever so slightly.

    “Those wounds you had… he took off the kid’s gloves, didn’t he?” He realizes in a hushed tone, a very, very commiserative and knowing tone that immediately makes you bristle.

    “It’s nothing! I was already used to getting beat up by my old boss, even before I came here!” you glare at him but his gaze doesn’t change or falter. If anything it deepens in sympathy.

    “And yet it’s more than that, isn’t it?” And just like that you cave.

    “He _wants_ my soul…” you whisper, the fear you’ve been maintaining so well until now suddenly rushing you in an overwhelming flood. “He’s… he’s trying to change it somehow, change _me_ , to make it… I don’t know, _tastier_ for him?! I don’t know what to do, I can’t even-" With a hushing sound he reaches out and pulls you into a tight hug, shutting you up before you can really lose it. If the situation was any different you would have shoved him away immediately but now you’re just grateful you can hide your face for a second. He smells like disinfectant but underneath, he smells warm and alive. _Human_.

    “Shh, I know. I can’t imagine what you must be going through but, like you said, I get it. But you can’t give up, ______, you can’t! If you do…” He doesn’t have to spell it out, you know just as well what might likely happen if you grew too weak to fight. “Just remember that you’re not one of the _good_ guys, not with how long you managed to stay alive in here. If you were, he would have killed you the second you arrived. You are a villain. And as long as you don’t fight against that part you’re going to be fine.”

You choke out a dry laugh and finally worm out of his arms, giving him a doubtful look.

    “Am I though? _Am_ I going to be fine, Vijay?”

He doesn’t answer that.

 

-

 

Void’s recovery ends shortly after that heart-to-heart, when the both of you suddenly contort in agony as the branding Blackhat had bestowed upon you flares up in searing pain, calling you to his office.

    “Does it ever get any easier?” you ask him on the way up and rub your stinging back, the elevator rumbling quietly around you. Void snorts. The mark on his left upper arm is glowing like a nest of waking embers, giving you a very good idea what must be going on beneath your shirt and top right now.

    “I always thought it was getting worse, actually.”

Before you can comment on that the elevator stops on the second floor of the mansion and the opening door reveals the long hallway to your boss’ office door. Suppressing a shudder of fear and unease, you walk up to it, a little behind Void in case Blackhat was planning to throw another knife at you. You didn’t feel like playing catch today. Just when you’re ten feet away from it, the giant door swings open, the voices that emerge causing you to stop dead in your tracks and wait, tensed. Vijay pulls you out of the way and against the hallway wall the second a tall, slender figure all dressed in red steps out of the office, followed by Lord Blackhat who’s wearing his signature grin, ushering the other… person out.

    “A pleasure as always doing business with you old chap.” He rasps politely, sounding genuinely pleased for once. Your eyes dart to the gangly being, astonished to think there might actually be someone Blackhat enjoys the company of, and immediately on edge trying to imagine just how horrible someone like that must be! He’s taller than your boss, very skinny, dressed from head to toe in a blood red pinstripe coat, tail frayed, with wide shoulder pads and the collar closed all the way to his pointed chin. To compliment the suit he’s wearing burgundy slacks and pointed shoes with slight heels of the same color. A red bowtie sits at the base of his long neck between black lapels that frame a bright red dress shirt with a black cross underneath the coat. In one gloved hand he’s holding something like an antique microphone on a cane. You look up to his pale gray face and can’t keep a gasp. Gleaming, entirely red eyes promptly dart down to you, the right one adorned by a burgundy monocle, and his own terrible grin widens, revealing sharp, yellow teeth that look just as dangerous as Blackhat’s.

    “Why, the pleasure is all mine!” he exclaims, to you, not to your boss. His voice sounds strangely filtered and scratchy as if coming from an old, old radio speaker and you feel your hackles rising instantly at the otherworldly phenomenon. Or maybe it’s because that man had the balls to openly ignore Blackhat. _Don’t tell me that’s another one of those Outer Gods he mentioned!_ You think in a flash of panic. Blackhat’s voice has the temperature of glacial ice when he speaks again:

    “Alastor, allow me to introduce the newest member of the Black Hat Organization: ______; a thief by trade.” Alastor doesn’t seem discouraged at all by the more than curt introduction, bowing down to you slightly, his grin ecstatic. Thick tufts of bright red hair with dark ends stick up to two sides above his bob-cut, the unusual shape somehow reminding you of deer ears, while an actual pair of small, black antlers peeks out of the wild mane.

    “Alastor, the Radio Demon from Hell, at your service. I am de- _lighted_ to make your acquaintance, Miss ______!” he announces in an excited flurry of words – and it really sounds like he’s announcing you for an interview on a show. He extends his free hand and you take it feebly, too nervous to find your usual repartee when you catch the quick, yet distinct glimpse he throws at your chest, at your SOUL. You notice the long, red claws protruding from his dark glove out of the corner of your eye as his hand curls tightly around your fingers to give your hand an energetic shake.

    “L- likewise, uh… Mr. Radio Demon, sir.” You wheeze out and flinch when he springs back up with a raucous laughter.

    “Ahahaha, oh, goodness me! Please darling, there is absolutely no need for such stiff formalities, you may call me _just_ Alastor. I insist!” He adds with a quick wink, the grin widening impossibly, and the static disappears on the last two words, somehow being more jarring than when he was talking with it. You don’t know how, but you manage a little smile despite your unease and Alastor _beams_. “Ahh, there it is! I knew you had a charming smile hidden away!” Then he smoothly turns to Blackhat, bowing deeply. “I must bid you adieu now, old friend. I hope the souls I gathered are to your satisfaction? With the problem of overpopulation Hell currently faces, I’m sure you might find some choice essences among them. And…” he shoots you another glance, “you are going to keep this lovely diamond in the rough around for a while longer, won’t you? I can imagine that my esteemed business partner will have need of someone in her profession soon enough.”

Blackhat’s single eye darts over to you for a second, his own grin returning with full force.

    “Now, now, Alastor you sly dog, you know I can’t go into any details about company confidentiality.” He chides ominously and the two share a horrible laugh, both grinning so hard and wide you get the feeling there’s some sort of contest going on among them. Then, with another shake of Blackhat’s hand, portraying quite plainly that they’re meeting on equal terms, the Radio Demon vanishes in a cloud of red smoke. The _hat_ demon however skewers Vijay and you with a glare, pointing into his office. Without a word you comply and feel a little better when you realize that even the supervillain seems just as rattled as you are from this casual encounter between two heavyweight entities of pure evil. You have a ton of questions after meeting Alastor, but deem it wiser to shut up until addressed. Blackhat walks around his desk and plants himself in the high backed chair, giving each of you a long piercing stare. He looks angry, but since that was pretty much his default mode, you’re not really sure what to expect. Suddenly the door flies open and Flug hurries in, panting like he ran all the way from his lab to the office. Which he probably did. He places a stack of Manila files on the desk, whispers something to Blackhat and waits with shaking limbs for an answer. The big boss bares his teeth in a snarl and slaps Flug with one quick backhand.

    “Keep. _looking_.” He growls. A snap of his fingers and the scientist is unceremoniously blipped out of the room. Then, without addressing any of the interruptions, he turns to Vijay: “Now, I’m sure you can’t wait to have that artifact back, Void.” Void just nods. “But before I give it to you,” Blackhat continues, “tell me, why is it that a single hero manages to put you, an ultimate villain trained by none other than myself, out of commission _without a scratch **on his person**?!_” Your instinct to recoil from his sudden outburst of rage is overwhelming yet you keep stock still and look at a point behind your boss who has risen from his chair. You hear Vijay swallowing thickly.

    “He- he had somehow gotten new powers,” Void whispers, “my black hole had no effect on him. I know I failed, Lord Blackhat. If- if it hadn’t been for ______'s assist, I would have been killed, or worse… captured.” At his confession Blackhat’s grin returns and he lifts a glowing hand.

    “And you know the punishment for putting my assets, my organization, in danger of being compromised?” Without waiting for a response he curls his hand into a fist. Void is lifted off the ground, legs kicking as the cruel force chokes him. Blackhat lifts him up higher and slams him to the floor. Now the villain screams out in pain only to have his limbs twisted by invisible hands until they crunch dangerously, before he’s lifted up again, his body engulfed in the red glow.

Everything inside you wants to interfere, to stop this, but you know the punishment would all just fall on you as well then and this time Blackhat probably wouldn’t be satisfied with merely crushing a foot or two. The screams grind away at your mental strength, your nails digging painfully into the palms of your hands. But then you remember something.

    “The spear!” you blurt out. The single, lance shaped pupil darts to you in wordless fury and you quickly continue before he can trap you with his powers: “There was something he did with his spear that defeated the black hole! I- I took the spear with me when we got out, it’s still in the hat-ship!” For a second Blackhat stares at you, processing your words. Then he drops Void to the ground where the villain curls up, groaning. Your horrible employer shoots you a sly grin.

    “Well, well. Looks like you’re not such a rookie at all, my dear. I’ll have to let Flug analyze this weapon then. Here, take your trinket, whelp.” Suddenly the artifact is in his other hand and he tosses it at Void who manages to come back on his feet. His bloodshot eyes are only trained on the silver bracelet that he cradles in his hands, a strained, triumphed smile tugging on his lips.

    “Thank you, Lord Blackhat.” He wheezes. Blackhat scrunches his face in distaste.

    “Of course, even though I enchanted it, you still can’t use it to get into the mansion at your own leisure, as my powers block its magic.” That would explain why Void had told you to use the artifact to get back to the ship and not straight to the mansion. “But apart from this single exception, using the artifact with your black holes will allow you to teleport everywhere you please. ______, see him out, will you?” he says to you and you nod quickly. Blackhat’s eye narrows with another mean grin as he holds your gaze for another moment. “And no little strolls outside for now, not while the _law_ is still looking for you.”

Your mouth falls open in protest, but Vijay kicks you swiftly with the tip of his boot outside of Blackhat’s line of sight and you shut right up. Still, having to spend another day and night in here with nothing to do, it already drives you up the walls!

    “Sure thing, boss.” You growl and spin on your heel to leave the office, Void stumbling along after you. When the door falls shut behind you, it’s only because of your quick reflexes and heightened senses that you manage to catch him before he falls face first to the floor. “Shit!” you curse out and wrap his arm over your shoulder to right him up, causing him to hiss at the pain. “Sorry, can you stand?”

Vijay just whimpers and claws his hand into your shirt to hold on. You huff a breath and start dragging him to the elevator. “Hold on, I’ll get you back to the doc.”

    “You know…” he suddenly croaks out. “’s not so bad…” You shoot him a skeptical glance that he doesn’t see and scoff.

    “What? Getting beaten into a pulp? I think so, too!” He shakes his head.

    “Living… without a soul. Makes a lot of things easier, the killing for example.”

You almost drop him out of shock, mouth standing open in disbelief.

    “Wait… are you trying to tell me that you already don’t have a soul anymore?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy first Advent my little thieves! So, you just met the one and only Deer Daddy, how yall feeling about that? Will we see him in the future? Let's just say, I doe-n't mind a little more smile-darn-ya-smile vibes in this story xD
> 
>  
> 
> **Next Update on the 8th of December!**


	31. Sick Thoughts

_Suddenly a shadow tendril creeps over the table. He rasps something but your focus is on the black, curling appendage, your heart suddenly thundering in your throat._

 

 

### 31\. Sick Thoughts

 

 

    “So, let me get this straight – again.” You lay your palms against each other and press the tips of your fingers to your lips. Closing your eyes with a frown you say: “You don’t have a soul anymore… and yet you are _somehow_ still alive?!” Void just nods, exhausted. Flug had already treated the reopened wound in his side and given him something against the pain but the villain was still not really in any shape to leave yet. “But- _how_!?” Now he shrugs with a tired snort.

    “Shit, I don’t know, ask Blackhat how it works.” Yeah. Like you were actually gonna do that after this _lovely_ debriefing you all just had. But this new revelation is… you don’t even know what you're feeling. Well, the fact that you apparently won’t straight up die from Blackhat snatching your SOUL _is_ reassuring, of course. Apart from being the complete opposite of what you had thought up to now. But… you can’t imagine how it would work, that you’d still be the same person with your soul gone! After all, you are from another world, right? Another dimension! A dimension where human SOULs could only be obtained by _killing_ said human, while monster SOULs couldn’t even be absorbed, they vanished right after a monster was killed, and the monster’s body had turned into dust.

“My soul was the payment for getting trained by him.” Vijay explains. You jerk from your thoughts.

    “I thought you paid with your soul for the powers he gave you?”

    “No, he gave me those to see what I could do with them, for some entertainment. But there’s always a catch when Blackhat makes a deal with you or even gives you something for _free_ , with seemingly no strings attached. Especially then.” Thinking back to the complementary bath bombs you had liked at first, only to find out he was using them to put you to sleep so he could mess with your mind, you shake yourself a little. And now you’re not so sure anymore that the mask he gave you is simply just a magical cover for your face. You remind yourself to be very careful with it or just leave it in your room the next time you head out and use something else to cover your face.

    “So… what was the _catch_ with your powers then?” you ask carefully. Void leans to the side on the stretcher he’s sitting on, checking if Flug is still somewhere in the room, before he summons a microscopic black hole in his palm that promptly pulls on you. His arm begins to glow with that purple light again, but when you look closer, you notice that the edges where the shine is going over into his skin look frayed, like his arm is being-

    “Whoa hey, watch out!” He quickly lets the hole disappear but not quick enough: a strand of your hair has fallen over your shoulder and gets cut off at the last inch, disappearing in the event horizon. Realizing how close you have gotten to him, you immediately jerk back. “Sorry, even a small one is pretty strong.” He explains. “The catch with my powers is that every time I use them, it feels like I’m being torn apart, my body disintegrating and ripping open at the seams. That glow you see is the energy of the quasar Blackhat put inside my body, trying to break free.”

    “Oh damn…” you mumble, reminding yourself to look up what a quasar is, but it sounds pretty painful. Vijay hums in agreement.

    “Yup. I’m pretty much used to it by now… but even my stress levels can trigger it, so I’m also pretty much used to a whole lot more potent painkillers in my system than what little Flug gave me…” A faint groan. “Fucking cheapskate.”

You watch him writhe in pain, gnawing on your lip again.

    “You want some more?” It’s only a low whisper but his eyes fly open immediately again and he gives you a suspicious look.

    “Meaning?” he asks back, just as low. You raise both brows and nod your head slightly to the adjacent room, where Flug kept his meds under lock and key.

    “I mean,” you say slowly, “that you look like you’re in pain and could probably use some more morphine, and _I_ could use a favor.”

A grim smirk splits his lips and he furrows his brows at you, the dark eyes flashing through the haze of agony.

    “Are you telling me - a suffering, mutilated, former _junkie_ \- that you’re gonna hook me up in exchange for a favor?” When you nod Void chuckles and leans back against the wall. “That is probably the most villainous thing I’ve seen you pull off. Alright, but I wanna hear that favor first.”

    “No.” you reply sternly, watching an honest expression of surprise spreading over his features. There’s even a bit of dismay, you think. But then he huffs out a breath, fists clenching as he crosses his arms over his bandaged ribs.

    “Shit, you’re actually serious about this…” he hisses and you nod, an arid smile curling your lips.

    “I am… and you already owe me _big_ time, remember? That whole… saving your life thing and stopping Blackhat from beating more than the ever-loving shit out of you back in his office, by taking that hero’s spear along as a bonus goodie?” Now Void laughs out, holding his wounded side.

    “Alright, alright, _shit_ , I take it all back: you _are_ evil and probably a sicker genius than Flug.” He presses out, nodding at you. You put a hand on your hip and snort.

    “That’s very flattering of you to say, but flirting won’t get you any meds, V.”

    “Fine. I’m in. But if Flug catches you or finds out later, I’m gonna deny _everything_ and blame it on _you_!”

    “Deal.” You flash him a wide grin.

 

Not even five minutes later you toss a package of morphine pills into his lap, shrugging when he stares at you with his mouth open.

    “What? I said I was gonna get you some.” You snort. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want a different _flavor_?” Void manages to get his face back under control, quickly hiding the pills in the pocket of his pants before he shakes his head, clearly dumbfounded.

    “Let’s just say I didn’t expect you to actually- you know what, nevermind. Also I take back what I said about you not having super powers. Alright, shoot. What’s this favor? Err… _favors_.”

You take a deep breath.

     “Just one for now. I want you to find someone for me. Someone in another… dimension, I guess.” Vijay frowns slowly, playing with the armband dangling from his bony wrist. “It’s-, okay, I don’t know how much Blackhat told you about me, but I’m not from _this_ world. Someone brought me here, someone who was able to cross over between those dimensions.”

    “It… will be difficult to find someone who can do that without knowing where to look first.” He ponders but you shake your head.

    “No, no, not him! He’s already- Blackhat killed him a few days ago when he showed up here a second time.”

    “Whoa- hold on,” he interrupts you, suddenly wide awake, sitting up on the stretcher, “you mean he got _inside_ the mansion?! Holy shit… Blackhat must have been mad with rage…”

    “Yeah, 'course he was, but pay attention: I want you to get to my dimension, to a place called South City and find my- my friend, Frisk. I- I just want to know if they’re still alive and what they’re doing.” You quickly explain what Frisk looks like, where Sans' base is located, as well as the location of your safe house, just in case Frisk had somehow ended up there. “Think you can do that for me?” you finally say, not able to keep the pleading tone out of your voice. You just have to know if they’re okay and what happened to them after you had disappeared, even if they did betray you. Void runs his fingers over the artifact, brows knitted in contemplation.

    “It depends on the artifact. If I can find your dimension, then yeah, I’ll find your friend. Anything I should tell them from you?” he asks and you shake your head viciously.

    “No, don’t even tell them I’m alive! I need that element of surprise if I want my revenge!” the last word is a heated hiss and the villain shoots you a surprised look.

    “On your friend? I could kill them for you, too, so we’d be even.”

    “No!! Jesus, Void, listen for one damn second! My old boss is the one who’s going to get offed and I’ll do it myself! Just… please find Frisk for me, okay? That’s all.” You slump a little, suddenly feeling stupid for asking something like that in the first place. But then you watch Vijay’s hand reaching out to you.

    “Deal. I’ll find them.”

    “Fuck.” You groan, clasping his hand in your own. “Thank you.” He chuckles.

    “I have to thank you. For… everything, I guess.” With that he pulls the box back out of his pocket and pops a few pills into his hand that’s slightly shaking. You watch the growing amount of morphine and swallow.

    “Uh… are you sure you know what you’re doing? Flug didn’t exactly leave the package slip in there… you won’t die from an overdose, right? V?” He grins at your concern and throws the handful of pills into his mouth, swallowing them with a sip from the water glass you brought him earlier.

    “I better not, otherwise BH would first resurrect me and then kill me again for being so stupid and then do the same to you. I’ve seen him do it before. Not a pretty sight.” You shudder.

    “Is there anything he _can’t_ do?!”

Void shrugs his shoulders.

    “Die?”

 

-

 

The library is quiet, except for the sound of paper rustling when you turn another page. Yet you don’t really read any of the words in the yellowed book and flip the page back, annoyed, to start the last paragraph over, only for your mind to wander off again midway. Never in your life have you been this _bored_ and at the same time this restless. But there was just nothing you could do around here!

Flug, Dementia and even 5.0.5 had gone on a mission together, Earl had been caught by Dementia again and was probably locked in her room, so you couldn’t even play poker with him. Blackhat had forbidden you to go outside, and this time there was no sneaking out without getting caught since he knew where you were at every point in time. You had tried to watch TV in the little living room but the windowless, dark room with the many screens had given you all kinds of creeps and so you had eventually decided to sneak into the library, throwing a nervous look to the office door before slipping into the vast room, suddenly aware that you were indeed alone in the manor with the boss. Void had left once the morphine really kicked in, numbing his pain; and most of his higher brain functions along with it. Luckily Flug hadn’t noticed his suddenly changed state, he had been too nervous about his own mission as to pay the stoned supervillain any mind.

For the umpteenth time you shoot a glance over your shoulder at a noise, but the library is still empty. Yet there’s no way you can shake the feeling of being watched, your nervous anticipation making your legs tingle. You know something is going to happen sooner or later, something you ain’t gonna like probably. Blackhat still hadn’t punished you for denying him access to your SOUL last night, for downright making an ass out of him… and the fact that he hadn’t used the opportunity in his office was only adding to your unease. But… would he just torture you until you gave in and let him taste your SOUL again just to make the pain stop? You don’t want that. You’re not even sure you would be able to endure getting more of your bones broken, no matter how used you were to getting beaten up. At least Sans had always made sure you were still intact enough to keep stealing for him, okay minus the times he had literally put you out of commission for a day or two. With Blackhat and his powers, he could very well break every single bone inside you and heal you back up in an instant to do it all over again, or even bring you back from the dead if Void had told the truth.

You vent another sigh and squirm on the chair, flinching from the feeling. Oh, yeah, that was also a thing now, apparently. Biting your lip, you wiggle around again, lids drooping a little at the friction. You could go upstairs and take care of it real quick so you could maybe finally focus on whatever the hell you were reading, but what are the odds that a certain hatted horror figure was already waiting for you, hm? If this was really an aftereffect of whatever Blackhat had done to you, you would stay the hell away from him; no way are you going to play into his hands, you’d rather take the fucking torture then!

But maybe you were really just bored enough out of your mind that you felt this horny. If you were able to leave the house, you could easily find some pleasant company to take you home, no problem. Being under house arrest however… your options are more than limited, considering what they would entail: Should you chat up Dementia and tell her Blackhat would never find out - or care for that matter - if you blew off a little steam together, even if she was saving herself for him? Then again Dementia might be too extreme in the sheets for your taste, if she would even let herself get talked into a quick hump. Flug? You shiver and make a face. Oh Jesus no that would make life all kinds of awkward, even more than it already was between you, with the whole you-both-banged-the-boss-thing! You snort, trying to imagine how that would even work and groan immediately with a hand over your eyes. Then you stop, a thought crossing your mind. _Void_.

He had obviously grown to trust you after the heist, enough to tell you his real name. And you weren’t put off by him in the least, quite the opposite. He wasn’t Frisk, of course, and you probably would never feel the same about another person like you had about them, the way you still somehow felt. Then again, you had lost Frisk along the way due to your own selfish desires and your obsession to get enough money to leave the gang with them, not to mention the wedge Sans had apparently driven between you with his lies. But, alas, Void was gone as well for now and you had no means to contact him in any way, so there went that hookup.

Leaves only the big boss himself. You gnaw on your lip, squirming a little where you sit again, thinking back to how good those shadow tendrils had actually felt. But then you clutch a fist and shake your head as if to physically lose the thought. _No_! If you came crawling, asking him to fuck you he would say no as a matter of principle just to drive you even more insane! You couldn’t stoop that low, no way! He would come back around soon enough to try some shit on you and if it happened, at least you weren’t the one who had caved first. You nod, pleased with that plan. It’s like Vijay said, you couldn’t give up, especially not over something as ridiculous as a bit of thirst! You were stronger than this for fucks' sake!

    “Don’t tell me you’re still continuing your… research on the occult?” Blackhat’s voice susurrates behind you and you jump off your seat, gasping in start. You glance down on the book, look back up to him and quickly slap it shut.

    “No?” you snap back, entirely unconvincing. In fact you _had_ tried to read more about this professor, Lovecraft, who had written the almanac Blackhat took away from you, trying to find out if there were more books he had written about the unnamable horrors, or more precisely, about Nyarlathotep and Azathoth. But thanks to the anthill that was your brain you hadn’t actually managed to read a single paragraph to the end or keep any of the information for that matter.

Blackhat shoots you a skeptic glare and rests his eye on the book. Suddenly a black tendril creeps over the table, flipping the book over to reveal the cover. He rasps out the title, but you don’t hear it, your entire focus is on that black, curling appendage lingering on the book. Your heart speeds up unbidden, thundering in your throat. When he takes a swift step towards you, you realize he just asked you something that you didn’t catch at all. Quickly your eyes shoot up to his face that’s already twisted into an irritated frown due to your rude inattention.

    “Sorry? I- I didn’t- what did you say?” you’re hasty to chase it up, recoiling from him with another jump of your heart. Blackhat pauses in his beginning snarl, eyeing you, before a grin slowly splits his features.

    “Now, whatever has you in such a tizzy, dearest?” he rumbles in amused intrigue, the intense gaze he levels on your face mocking his puzzlement.

    “Uh, how about the fact you keep creeping about and scaring the crap out of me? I think anyone would be freaked out by that!” you reply, crossing your arms in defiance. Blackhat takes another smooth step towards you, placing one hand on the high desk you’re leaning against, invading your personal space. You hold your breath involuntarily but can’t move away.

    “Maybe so… but you are not exactly ‘freaked out' now, are you? Not entirely at least.” His shadow tendril is still wiggling on the table and you shoot it another quick glimpse. Of course he notices. “Penny for your thoughts, my dear?” he asks slyly, the tentacle twitching like a lure. You swallow thickly but still can’t move away from him. He chuckles lowly. “Oh please, don’t tell me you are still… _frustrated_ about last night? Why, I thought you loathed that form of physical contact anyway.”

You feel your face flush in anger and embarrassment, returning his probing look with a furious glare.

    “That was a low move, even for you!” you hiss impulsively and stab a finger into his chest. “I thought you were posing as some old-fashioned, posh gentleman or whatever, but in reality you’re just a sick, sadistic bastard!” Blackhat’s grin grows impossibly wider, his eye narrowing but not in anger.

    “Oh, the things you say… I am in fact a gentleman, but _you_ are no lady deserving of courtesies. If you choose to continue behaving yourself like the gutter-rat you once were, I shall treat you accordingly.” While he says that, his other hand shoots up lithely to grab your chin, lifting your face a little to expose your throat and the angry marks his fingers left on your skin the day before. “Even though your delicate features tell a different story… you _would_ look rather enrapturing in a ball gown, and even more so once I tore it to shreds.” Another step, and you’re forced to arch your back away from him, your eyes wide in apprehension and anticipation alike, painfully aware of the tingling between your legs. Your hand reaches back to support your weight on the desk, the other one you had raised to poke his sternum suddenly resting limply on his chest in a weak attempt to push him away. Blackhat’s single pupil constricts as his eye widens at you in manic zest, traveling down your form with an appreciative hum in his throat.

“Fortunately you’re quite flexible… I could tie you up into an appetizing, artistic pose with colorful ropes and have you dangling over the dining table. Meanwhile I’d host a lavish dinner party and have the guests marvel at this exotic new form of entertainment. I could lace you up down to the waist with satin ribbons knotted around fish hooks that I'm going to thread through the skin of your back, dressed in this and nothing else. Mh… the possibilities are endless, truly, and I know _all_ of them my precious little thief. Oh the _fun_ I could have with you…”

You shudder despite yourself, feeling uncomfortably hot and feverish, your mouth dry, and you swallow again, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

    “You- you wouldn’t…” you breathe out. Blackhat cocks a brow at you. “You’re not actually interested in me or my body, right? You just want my SOUL and that’s it. You’re doing all this just to taste it again without getting hurt, or get me to hand it to you, don’t even try to deny it!”

    “Oh ______, you wound me. Why would I bother with all this when I can simply put a spell on you any time to have a taste? _You_ just have to stop denying your own desires. I can clearly sense your arousal, I can _smell_ it. So why keep torturing yourself trying to fight it? We’re alone, nobody will disturb us. But if you're too scared...”

With a sudden rush of angry force you push off the table, grab his tie and spin around, shoving him up against the desk. On the edge of your overwhelmed consciousness you’re surprised Blackhat lets it happen without a fight and only grins down on you, looking ever like the cat who caught the canary.

    “You fucking bastard!” you curse through your teeth and pull him down by the tie to kiss him almost brutally. He chuckles under your lips and parts his teeth to let your tongue enter. When you pull away, panting heavily, he licks his lips and nods.

    “A bold move, for you, but I’m still not quite convinced that you are up to the task. You certainly can do better than that.” With another angry noise you press against him again, catching his lower lip between your teeth, your hands tearing on his dress shirt until the buttons pop off, clattering to the floor. You work your way down his front, opening the waistcoat as well to run your palms over his bare skin, goosebumps racing over your own arms at the strange contact. But before you can flinch away he wraps one arm around the small of your back, pulling your hips flush against his, and now you feel the evidence of his own arousal pushing against your pelvis, making you suck in a sharp breath. You glance down to the bulge in his black pants and hear him chuckling darkly.

“Well?” Blackhat rasps, both furtive and sardonic. “I’m not going anywhere this time, seeing as you got me pinned.” Raising your glare back to his face, you shove a hand between you and give his cock a firm rub through the barrier of fabric, eliciting a harsh groan from the eldritch god. His visible eye flashes at you in exhilaration and Blackhat bucks slightly into your hand, his grin wide. Not averting your gaze, you finger the button open, along with the zipper, and let your hand disappear in his pants, immediately meeting his hot, pulsing erection under your skin. You bite your lips, another flush coloring your face, and raise yourself up to kiss him again and avoid his intense stare. Blackhat hums into your mouth, forked tongue circling yours and he sucks on it when your hand begins to stroke him deftly, his arm around your back flexing in response to your sensuous touches.

“Come now…” he murmurs with a tad of impatience sharpening his tone. “Stop being so tame already, this is getting dull.”

    “Shut up!” you snap back, tightening your grip until he hisses in a breath. “Shut the fuck up!” Yet still you drop into a crouch before his feet, yanking his pants down in the same motion, his cock springing free. You’re surprised to see that it looks like any regular cock, aside from the dark, ashen color maybe, translucent fluid leaking from the tip already. You had definitely not expected _this_. To be honest you had expected to encounter a tentacle or some other, alien organ. But then you hesitate and look up to Blackhat. His eye is gleaming from the shadow of the top hat, his grin a little crooked.

    “Are you sure you want to go on?” he smirks and before you can hiss a venomous reply back, something happens to his dick. You can’t look away as it suddenly splits open, tears apart into three tentacle-like appendages that move individually and curl in on themselves, revealing a horribly raw, gory inside with ripples and grooves and spikes, and embedded in the center, a pair of dark red folds through which a fourth, slippery tentacle slips through, thicker than all three and even more covered in bulges, pulsing. But it doesn’t stop there: the entire front of Blackhat’s body rips open in a sickening display of bloody entrails and strange organs, teeth lining the rims of the tear that reaches up to his chest, more tentacles spilling into the open, wiggling and curling like worms. You cling to his legs to not faint from the sight, your blood leaving your limbs for a nauseating moment. Your boss however leans back on his hands with a nasty grin, drawing the front of his coat further back.

    “Normally I refrain from _stripping_ like this, but you certainly earned a thorough gander at the goods my dear. So? What are you waiting for?” his grin widens in a challenging way and you swallow against the sickness constricting your throat, slowly lowering your eyes again. _Oh God… if only it wasn’t moving on its own!_ “Don’t tell me you’re getting second thoughts down there.” He teases above your head. Without another word you raise yourself up on your knees and wrap a hand around the tentacle in the center, aligning it before you clench your eyes shut and close your lips around the dripping member, a shiver running down your spine at the more than strange sensations, the feeling, taste and texture of it. Your stomach promptly jumps into your throat but you battle it down again and give the cock a suck, forcing it deeper down. Blackhat utters a low chuckle that turns into a rumbling hum.

“Yes, just like that…” his hand buries in your hair, pushing you further down on his dick and you want to smack it away but then one of the many tentacles wraps around your wrist and guides your hand to the three other pieces of his sex and they immediately curl around your fingers until you return the touch and stroke them, letting the wet tendrils slip through your hands. A loud, pleased moan escapes Blackhat. “Mh, what a quick learner you are… so eager.” Spurred on by his praise you bob your head, sucking harder, giving the surrounding tentacles harsh pulls that have your boss cursing in a strange, guttural language that frightens you to the core and yet drives you further on.

 

It had been a simple mission, an _easy_ mission despite Flug’s usual rambling about sticking to the plan and who was to do what now in case of x and cover y and blahblahblah. Always with the nerd-talk! Good thing that a lot of those _complicated_ missions as he called them could be completed by simply punching someone to death!

Dementia raises the trophy in her fist, flicking a little dirt off the pale, battered face of the hero, like she didn’t even notice the trace of blood her trinket left on the floor behind her. A serene smile plays around her lips. Blackhat would be so proud of her! Killing another capital bastard; she was sure he would at least let her hug him for once! She takes the next flight of stairs in a jog, her heart pounding from excitement, and there it is, at the end of the long, dark hallway: the looming door to his office! She quickly checks if her clothes are looking alright, fluffs her hair and skips up to the door, swinging the head around by the scalp. Suddenly she notices a beam of light coming from the room next to Blackhat’s office. The library? Before she can wonder who might be using that at this hour, her nose picks up that intoxicating smell that immediately brings a fiery heat to her loins and she smiles a little dopily now. Dementia sighs, shuddering at the thought of Blackhat. Not only was he a total badass and the most evil being to ever exist but _he_ even looked cool reading a book. Or the newspaper. Or simply existing! The perfect man. And he would be hers! For ever and ever…

She opens the door halfway, already lifting the hero’s head to call out to her love, when her eyes take in the scene before her, her lizard brain coming to a sudden stop. There was Blackhat, sure enough, and oh God his shirt was open, the dark, chiseled chest seeming to absorb the light! The sight alone is almost enough to make her swoon; this was it, this was her moment! But then her heated gaze travels down, to where you’re kneeling and-

In a dizzying flash all blood seems to leave her body, instantly being replaced by a liquid fire, by an all-consuming rage that short-circuits her entire mind, and she kicks the door open with enough force to shatter it against the wall, splinters raining down on her. She drops the severed head and reaches for her axe, a terrible roar ripping from her chest.

    “You fucking bitch!! I’ll kill you!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wuh-ooooh, look who came to spoil your fun! It is I! x'D Let's just hope you'll survive that more than rude and dangerous interruption next week :B 
> 
> I'm gonna say this here already but there will be an official announcement on the twitter next week: I'll be taking a two week break for the Christmas holidays to spend time with my friends and family whomst I havethn't seeneth ever since Blackhat made me write his memoires or whatever this is xD 
> 
> **Next Update on the 15th of December!**


	32. The Devil Within

_You’re lying on the carpet, convulsing to get more air into your chest, foam running out of your mouth. “Fuck!” you croak, instantly regretting to speak aloud._

 

### 32\. The Devil Within

 

 

    “Fuck!” You’re halfway on your feet when you hear Dementia’s livid scream, but still only barely dodge the battle axe that comes flying at you not a split-second later.

    “Oh _fuck_!” is all you manage to wheeze out when the next object, a bloodied head, is already hurled your way, missing you by a hair's width and bouncing off one of the bookshelves with a wet squelch. With insane speed Dementia jumps at you, fangs bared, ready to tear you apart. “Dementia, wait!” you shout but already know any words from you are now only fuel for the fire, as her wordless roar confirms, and then she’s on you, throwing you to the ground with her own weight. Before she can pin you down you roll backwards and use her momentum to push yourself away from her, coming back up on your feet. Your chivvied eyes dart around the room, looking for something to defend yourself with that will keep her at a distance, and lands on Blackhat, still leaning against the desk with a mean grin on his face and his pants down.

“A little _help_ here?!” you cry out incredulously, already forced to dodge another swing from Dementia. _Shit, she’s too fast- way too fast!_ You feint to the side and manage to let her crash into a bookshelf but Dem's rage only makes her more relentless and she promptly grabs a piece of the broken shelf to swing it around to you. You evade most of the splintered wood but an exposed screw slashes your arm open. “For fuck's sake, Blackhat!!” your voice cracks from panic; another swing with the board and now you’re backed into a corner! Over the mindless roars from Dementia you can hear Blackhat laughing heartlessly:

    “Oh but this is perfect! A surprise attack with deadly intention! Now you can finally prove if you got what it takes to be a successful villain!” he rasps out over the crashing sound of another bookshelf getting pulverized. In the last second you've managed to push off the boards and slide away under Dementia in mid-jump. Now you come back up and wheel around to him.

    “Are you out of your mind?! Call her back you fuck!” you scream at him, finally freeing the Bowie knife from under your shirt. You really had to make a better everyday holster for that. But then Dementia dashes at you again and this time you’re too slow: her hand grabs your entire face and with one fluid motion she slams you into the ground, your back going up in flames from your skull to your tailbone before the adrenaline has time to numb the pain and make you fight back. Your hand reflexively flies up, the knife slashing through her arm like butter, but she doesn’t let go off you or even acts like she feels any pain. You’re lifted up by the head, probably only so she can crush it into paste on the floorboards, but instead of attacking her again, you curl in on yourself, getting your feet under your center and on the floor, and spin out of Dementia’s grip, hacking at her other hand that’s trying to grab at you. There’s blood in your mouth and you spit it out while she scrambles to her feet in a blitz, lunging at you without giving you even one second of pause. Not only is she way faster than you, it also doesn’t look like she’s gonna run out of stamina, or rage, anytime soon. Again you barely manage to dodge in the last moment, stumbling against a bookshelf, your breath hissing from the brutal slam, head spinning.

“Blackhat!” you shout, on the brink of tears. “Call her back, I’m serious!” Dodging another insane haymaker by the skin of your teeth, you hear him tutting.

    “And why should I do that? I am quite enjoying the spectacle, thank you very much.” Something comes flying at you, sparking like a firecracker and before you have time to understand what it is, the grenade explodes, throwing you into the shattered remains of the first bookshelf, a cloud of torn paper erupting from your impact. A horrible, horrible realization hits you. Coughing, you jump to your feet and stagger away from the walls, sliding over scattered books.

    “Oh you… you fucking bastard, are you actually wanting her to kill me so… so you can take my SOUL!?” His answer is only another malicious laughter, drowned out by Dementia’s echoing roar as she suddenly attacks from behind you! Through the smoke the bomb raised you hadn't noticed her scuttling over the ceiling! A converse shoe hits your back, sending you face first to the floor and knocking the air out of you again. With an inhuman act of effort you roll around, raising your knife the same second the blade of her axe comes swinging down on you, parrying the strike with the flat of your blade against the helve. Dementia grins maniacally and leans on the weapon, her yellow eyes flashing at you in murderous intention.

    “Got you now you little bitch! You man-snatching, cock-sucking, lying _bitch_!” she hisses, foaming at the mouth. “I’m gonna split your head open like a pumpkin and wear it for Halloween!” Your arms tremble from fighting her strength, the razor sharp blade inching in on your face. You can’t keep this up, you’re not nearly as strong as her! _She’s really going to kill me_ , you realize, frantic. _And Blackhat won’t do shit to stop her!_ Your elbows are screaming in pain by now, your teeth clenched so hard you think they’re going to splinter any second now, blood welling from the cut in your arm. There’s no way to avoid this deadly blow, no dodge, no counter, no trick you could pull on her. You try to kick at her legs and make her stumble, but she is like a boulder, unaffected by your pitiful attempts to throw her off and the motion only causes your arms to give way another few inches, the blade now so close you can’t even focus your eyes on it anymore. “ _Die already_!” Dementia roars and flexes her arms, the flash in her eyes the last bit of persuasion you need.

    “Fine! I’ll let you taste it, I’ll let you taste my SOUL!” you cry out hysterically, fighting the crushing weight on the knife with your last strength, praying the blade won’t break. “But get her _off of me_!” Dementia snarls above you and leans even more on the axe, the pain in your arms causing you to scream now, scream in agony and fear. “Blackhat _please_! I’m begging you! You can taste it but I- I don’t want to die! _Please_!” The last word is a frantic sob and you close your eyes, convinced he’s not going to help you. Well, you already knew he was going to punish you today. But apparently you had underestimated the entire scope of his hurt pride. You feel regret that you couldn’t see Frisk one last time, that you couldn’t get your revenge on Sans.

    “Dementia: Leave it.”

Suddenly the crushing weight is gone and your arms shoot up into the air, feeling numb and bloodless after that struggle. A hoarse cry of relief rips from your lips, tears streaming from your eyes. _I’m alive! I’m still alive!_ You quickly sit up, almost falling over, and whirl around. Dementia shuffles over to Blackhat, dragging her axe over the floor behind her, leaving a thin trail of blood from where your knife had cut her. His eye is glowing red, the pupil turning in an endless spiral. When she’s in front of him, he flicks a finger against her forehead. “Forget what you saw in here and go to your room. Stay there.” He orders curtly, waving his hand dismissively. Dementia nods and zombie-trots out of the library. You scramble to your feet, feeling dizzy and weak in the knees, battered and bruised. A vice like hand grabs your bleeding arm from the side and you want to fight it off but Blackhat lifts you up and onto the table, stepping between your legs.

    “I can’t believe you actually did that. Delete her memory.” You mumble faintly, hissing when his teeth promptly nip at the skin of your neck, working their way up your throat and to your mouth, sealing it with a kiss before he pulls away again to grin down on you.

    “I won’t be disturbed by the two of you chasing each other around the mansion like a bunch of fighting cats in a backyard alleyway.” Blackhat growls, still clearly amused by the mental image. Then his grip on you grows tighter and he presses his forehead to yours. You’re completely dumbfounded how his top hat stays on his head that way. You know what’s coming next. “Now, where were we? I think you said something about me tasting your soul? Well, if you insist…”

You scoff weakly but don’t fight when he forces your mouth open with his this time and the strange ghost-hand pushes its way down into your innermost self. Still, the feeling is so wrong that you cling to his arms, shaking from the sensation. But fortunately the contact only lasts a few seconds this time: right when you feel it brushing against your SOUL, Blackhat already tears himself away from you, panting hard, his burning eye drilling a hole into yours. Before you even have time to be confused, he pulls you flush against his body, his claws making short work of the clothes you’re wearing to touch every inch he can reach, shadow tendrils and wet tentacles quickly joining him. You gasp in start, taken aback by his sudden urgency and still not a bit recovered from the unexpected fight for your life, feeling the pressure of his cock against the front of your pants already, the tentacles surging over the fabric and leaving wet, slimy trails.

“Ah!” he utters between a kiss and sucking a bruise on your neck. “What a bloody kill… without any regret, just pure blood lust and intent! Marvelous!” You can’t even follow the touch of each hand and tendril anymore, there’s just too much going on at once on your skin right now that you focus on holding on to your sane mind. A trembling moan escapes you, causing Blackhat to chuckle wolfishly. “Enjoying yourself, love? Tell me how much you like your _reward_. You could have had this way sooner, without a near death experience. You could have had this last night, over a drink, without having to _beg_.”

    “God, I hate you!” you hiss out, vicious, still riled up from that near death experience and furious at his games. Blackhat just laughs at that. You slap him. Hard and with all the hate your feel. He doesn’t stop touching you, but his eye flashes in excitement, his grin reaching a new level of insanity.

    “Do you now? Do you want to bite me? Tear the skin off my face? Do it then, show me how much you really despise me. Let me feel your hatred!” With a feral noise you seize his lip between your teeth and bite down, harder, until you feel it break and salty blood spills over your chin. He just laughs louder, even when you jerk up your hands and rake your nails over his face, tearing the skin open in deep cuts. Then he suddenly growls out a moan and slams your back onto the table, tearing your pants apart and out of the way. You claw into his neck as the slippery tentacles curl over your sex and slide around your folds, the flash of pleasure enough to make you keen into his mouth. Without any more delays Blackhat pushes into you, humming appreciatively at the tight, wet clutch of your walls around his pulsing cock. He slides his arms under your knees and bends closely over you, the dripping tentacles of his gory form slipping over your naked body, wrapping around you to hold you in place. You grab his tie and do the same, throwing your head back when he starts rolling his hips forward, setting a harsh, quick rhythm that has the table rattling. Two of the tentacles around his cock take turns flicking over your clit, quickly working you up while the third wiggles its way down your ass, pushing and probing the puckered hole until it slips inside and you arch your back off the table, gasping at the overwhelming storm of sensations until Blackhat pushes you back on the table top with one hand. His other cups your cheek, smudging his blood on your face.

    “You look ravishing covered in blood…” he growls, his voice deep and hoarse, not quite the demonic reverberation yet but close enough to drive you even faster to the edge. He slams his hips forward with a groan, the slapping of skin against skin almost too loud in the quiet library and your face flushes, eliciting another hissing moan from your boss. “I shall have you painted like this and hung it on a wall in my room. Or the office.” His evil grin returns and he stops his thrusts, about to move away from you but you yank on the tie, kicking your legs free from his arms to lock them around his waist.

    “Don’t you dare!” you spit out, wrapping the silk of the tie around your fist once, twice, and giving it a sharp pull. “Don’t you dare stop now you bastard, not this bullshit again!” Your other hand presses the Bowie knife against his throat, blood trickling down from where it already broke the skin. “You will make me come _now_ , or you’re going to end up like that asshole I gored, got it?! I’m sick of your games, Blackhat!” He regards you with a fervent expression and crawls over you again, plunging his eldritch cock so hard into your pussy you feel tears in your eyes and yet you wrap your arms around his neck all the same with a breathless “Yes!” at the friction.

    “As you wish, my little thief…” Blackhat rasps into your ear and fucks you in earnest now, all teasing gone. Each punishing thrust drives the air out of you in clipped sobs, the touch of the tendrils on your clit purposeful, quick and ruthless, and when you think you can’t hold on, can’t take it anymore he buries his teeth in your other shoulder, growling only a single command: “ _Come_.” In an instant your body releases all tension in an orgasm so violent that you briefly lose consciousness while arching off the table as far as the tentacles allow you to, your heels digging into his back, nails tearing his skin open again, the blade of your knife scratching over his black coat. A wordless cry rips from your chest, feeling like you’re breaching the liberating surface seconds before drowning and then you sink back, limp, whimpering quietly with every strained exhale, your lips moving in incoherent babbling. Blackhat’s dark shadow falls over you, blocking out the light as he straightens his back and removes himself from you, causing you to hiss at the sharp sting in your cunt. Your eyes flutter open, the bliss you’re feeling quickly mixing with a new sense of apprehension and fear when you see the wide, evil grin on his face.

    “Don’t…” you whisper frantically, trying to raise your knife but none of your limbs respond to your brain’s orders anymore. You realize that you’re extremely vulnerable right now, exhausted and limp as he left you, and there’s no way he won’t abuse that. As if to confirm your misgiving, Blackhat rasps out a predatory laugh, running cold hands from your hips up to your breasts and down again, sketching over each scar along the way.

    “Don’t _what_?” he asks furtively, the returning fingertips now sharp talons that leave red lines on your skin but apart from that he doesn’t do anything worse. You swallow and close your eyes, your throat feeling raw.

    “I- I dunno, I thought you were going to torture me now since I’m at you mercy and… and whatnot.” Instead of an answer he just chuckles lowly, maliciously.

    “Keep giving me ideas like that, my dear ______, and I might just do that.” You manage to pry your eyes back open and look at him. The skin on his face has already regenerated where you scratched and bit it, his shirt still hanging open under the coat, the strange skin beneath it churning and billowing and you quickly look away again before it makes you sick. With a snap of his fingers your boss is suddenly immaculately dressed once more and pulls you up to sit on the table but you wince and hiss at yet another, sharper flash of pain shooting through your loins. From the corner of your eyes you see his grin widening in glee. “Hm, you look even better this wrecked and not passed out afterwards, I really should have brought the cambot for this again.”

You smack his hand away and ease yourself off the desk, knees buckling.

    “You’re sick…” you mutter what only makes him laugh out louder.

    “Oh please, you’re one to talk. But I would say you earned yourself some… courtesy.” Before you can react he’s pulled you through a portal of darkness, the back of your legs bumping into the soft mattress of a bed once you emerge again, your heart jump-starting in your ribcage. With wide eyes you look around, recognizing your room. Oh God was he going to… “There, I just spared you the humiliation of staggering back to your room, naked and barely able to crawl, even though I would have loved to watch _that_!” He gives you a filthy smirk and cups your neck with both hands, his face closing in on yours. “And as payment…” he rounds, licking green drool from his lips. “You will let me taste it again. Won’t you?” You scoff but make no move to stop him. As if you would have been even remotely able to.

    “You’re an addict.” You hiss out, grabbing the lapels of his coat to steady your trembling body. Blackhat snorts.

    “Guilty as charged…” And for the second time within the hour his ghastly phantom touch forces its way towards your SOUL, curling around it like a gruesome hand. He moans at the taste, his hands pulling you flush against him, the fabric of his coat enveloping your naked body. He’s relishing it this time, while the first taste had obviously overwhelmed his senses, but you soon notice that he doesn’t only stick to tasting it, sensing the disgusting _pluck_ within your chest, and try to warn him when you already feel your SOUL’s resistance, but then a flash of light erupts between you and he coughs, hacks, and tears himself violently away from you, a terrible shriek leaving his maw that’s spilling black tar!

    “Shit!” you wheeze out and try to grab his arm to steady him but his other hand shoots forward and closes around your throat in a cruel hold, choking you. His visible eye is only a dark, empty socket now that’s also leaking the black stuff, the monocle on the other side cracked with a fine spider web of lines, obscured so much by black smoke you can barely make it out in his dark, surging face. A mind-shattering roar seems to come from all around you now, battering your poor human brain like a hellish echo of his scream.

    “ ** _You!_** ” Blackhat thunders, the grip around your throat tightening until you can feel the vessels in your eyes popping and your vertebrae crunching. Your hands claw desperately at his wrist but with no effect. “ ** _You deceitful little whore, did you do that on purpose!? Did you lure me into this trap just to strike?!_** ” You want to shake your head, can’t move it an inch, so you silently mouth “no!” over and over, your vision darkening already, your hands slumping down, thoughts seizing, and then suddenly air, cold, sharp air that races through your maltreated throat. It sets your windpipe aflame but finally reaches your lungs and you greedily suck it down all the way. You’re lying on the carpet, convulsing to get even more oxygen into your chest, bloody foam flying out your mouth with each frantic cough. Next to you a dark, formless shape lies in a heap under a dark coat, wheezing in hoarse rattles, shuddering from pain. _Blackhat?!_

    “Fuck!” you croak, immediately regretting to speak out loud but you have to give way to your own shock and anger! “You asshole, did you honestly just try to steal it?!” The malformed pile under the coat surges, fleshy, wet tendrils creeping over the floor from underneath it only to curl in agony. You scramble to you feet and quickly pick up the knife you dropped but stop indecisively when the black fabric falls to the floor, revealing what’s hidden underneath.

Blackhat looks like shit, to put it mildly. A single, giant monster-eye glares at you from within a gory, amorphous form, his top hat somewhere stuck in the bloody goop. He looks like someone skinned him and chewed up the rest like a horrible gum only to spit it back out. You weigh the knife, your brows furrowing at the disgusting sight. “Oh shit…” you mumble in realization. “Are you… are you _dying_?” The gruesome blob arches off the ground, teeth poking through the mushy surface at the bottom but then another violent tremble shakes him and he flops back on the floor with a sickening splash.

    “No, not yet at least.”

The sudden hiss of a voice from behind you makes you wheel around in shock, your weak legs caving dangerously when you see him, and you gasp in disbelief.

    “Wingdings?! Wha- I thought he killed you!”

His ghostly face floats in the darkness next to you, pixelated eyes crinkling in amusement, the crooked fangs parting in a cackling laughter.

    “I know. Surprise!”

On the floor, Blackhat’s deformed body twists and curls, like he’s trying to get away from the monster. You look down again, eyes widening at the sad display. A cold, skeletal hand wraps gently around your wrist from behind you, lifting the knife from your side and turning you further around until you’re right in front of your boss. The big, purulent eye is glowing red, the lance shaped pupil split into three, shaking from hatred it can’t unleash. You can’t avert your own eyes and feel the many hands of Wingdings cupping your bare shoulders, steadying your hand, stroking your hair. His static voice is a low, insistent whisper in your ear, yet still loud enough so Blackhat can hear every word: “Look at him. He is weak now, kitten, so, so weak. Huhuhuhu… your SOUL did a real number on him this time. Well done! I always knew you had _quite_ the potential. Now, do both of us a favor and end him, yes? This is your one and only chance to get back at him for all the pain and humiliation he made you go through, forced you to endure! Kill him, ______!” He hisses, giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze, pushes ever so slightly, and you take a cautious step forward, your eyes glued to the miserable, frail creature in front of you.

_T_ _his is it? I can actually get out of this horrible deal and be free, just like that?!_ With _my SOUL?_ Another step; you grab the knife with both hands now, a grin lifting the corner of your mouth in rising relief.

    “Yes, kitten. Yesss! Make him pay for what he did to you! Come on now, don’t be shy… I know you can do it. Oh, you wanted this for so long didn’t you? Revenge! Sweet, sweet revenge!” Wingdings croaks, exhilarated, urging. The glare of the single eye darts around the room now, frantic, the wet tendrils that surround it curling inwards in fear as you lift the knife higher, ready to strike, ready to end this nightmare with one good throw.

But then you stop.

Wingdings was right, you _wanted_ to make Blackhat pay for what he had done to you ever since he first touched your SOUL in that horrible way, more than anything else! Yet… what had even caused him to do that in the first place, and actually started this terrible obsession of his, this compulsive desire to taste your soul? Which had ultimately led to Blackhat trying to steal said SOUL and ending up more dead than alive from its attack now!

Something clicks inside your head almost audibly.

    “No… this… this is what _you_ wanted all along isn’t it, Dings? This is why you brought me here in the first place!” With a quick spin you free yourself from his hands and stumble away, almost stepping into the Blackhat-goop on the ground. A wet tendril wraps tightly around your ankle, threatening to cut the blood circulation, but you keep your eyes on Wingdings, and not a second too soon: his ghastly face is distorted in fury, the black mass of his body billowing forth from the shadows of the dark room, white hands whirling around him, followed by a sickening blast of static that numbs you.

    “Kill him, ______! Don’t be a stupid monkey for once, _kill him_!”

    “No!” you shout back over the shrilling static. “I still need him! What I _want_ is to kill Sans for trying to off me just because I was going to leave! Blackhat is my ticket to do that! He actually wants me to become someone on my own and not play the lackey all my life!”

    “Oh you stupid, little bitch, you don’t really believe that shit, do you?! I saved your ungrateful ass, you owe _me_! And I say: _kill him already_!” he’s shrieking now, the hands making a grab for you, glowing with magic. You try to dodge, but your body is still too wrecked to evade his attack, a purple sheen trapping your SOUL. You cry out in pain, sensing your life force being poisoned and dwindling from his magic, powerless against it. “I really thought you were smarter than this! Kill him or I will end you myself!”

    “No, Wingdings, stop! Stop it!” _Why?_ Why couldn’t you use your SOUL to fight this?! Why were you so weak? Suddenly a gurgling, distorted voice cuts through your frantic thoughts:

 

 

"̵̛̻̯̤̄͆̋͛̄̈̐̏̓̆̚͝ **Y̸̬͚̖̽̇̈̈́̌̈́͊̆́̌̈́ọ̷̧͙̤̊̔̎͛̏̿͆̉͑͘̚͘̚͘͝u̷͚͈̱̯̼̖̮̯̮̙̰͉̬̚ͅ ̷̨̤͎̥̮͖̫̫̹̘̫̻̩̞̑̓̀̎̊̇̊̊̅́̿͒̑̈͐͝b̵̡̢̛̰̗̪̫͈͈̼̹̝͕̠̙̈́̏͂͋͆͒̿̈́̏̅̅̅͜͝ḽ̶̡̛̳̻̜̫͈͑̈͐͑̈́̍͆͂̃̎̂͆̍̃̒͝o̴̡̧̢̫͕̪̬̣̙͉̦͙͇͙̼͐͜o̷̧̨̫̩̠̜̯̮̦̔̓̋͑̔̓͛̉̄̈́̓̒d̸̡̝͖̦̻͎̦̪̰̘̉̃̋̈́͆̿̃́̓̉͐͗̇͘y̶̧̨̮̥̼͚̩͕̟̥̻̯̖̼̤͍̻͇͋̑́̌̈́̈́́̈̈́̔͌̎̇̔͛ͅ ̶̠̪̼̗̼̱͒͐̍̌̌͠a̶͕̜͔̤̳͔̮̝̪̋̋̂m̶̙̤̯̺̝̣̥̼̘̥̆͑̃̍̓̈͆̉̓̓̓͘ă̶̛̛͕̭̰̳̭̪̥̗̫̫̲̪͎̤͖̭͚͊̅̅̔̃̀͋̈̈͛̔̕̚͘͠ͅṯ̷͌̆̑̏̄͘̚̕͠e̷̱͚͚̝̘̯̺̺̋̏̐̋̑͜ų̴̧̫̩̺̠̰̗̗̦̮̼͕̫̫͖̈̑͊̋͌͝͠ͅr̴͙͈͚̻̻̟̖̙̖̬͔̗̤̫̪̒̄͛̄̅̎͌́͊͗!̴̨̙̱͓͍̫͇̥̺̖̟̙̞̣͂̌͗͆͜ͅ ̶̧̡͔͉̗̟̮͎̱̲̩̱̠͉̘̯͕̎̔̓̔̒̈́̐̽̏̋̎̒͘͝͝Ŷ̷̭͚̗͖͖̜̠̮̞̭̝̰̱̗͒͌̍̑̆͜ó̶̡̧̡͓̎̋̽̒̃͆̐͋̽͛̊̈́̈́̃̈u̷̧͇̪͈̱̞̝̩̻̬͚̰̞͕̫͓͈͕͜͝.̶̢̠̺͖̠̺̞̫͒̂̾̄̐̋̃̄̚.̶̭͖͕̖̹̙̲͈̯̯͍̇͌̍͒̀̿̏̓̕͜͝͝ͅ.̸̧̡̧͓̬̲̖͈͉͙͇̄̔̈́̓́̈́͑̓̍̉̏͌̀̆̚͜͜͝͝ ̷̡̗̙̞̥̞̤̖̦̼͇͖̳̺̄̈́̄̾̒͒̾͛̃̿̍͘̚͘͝s̷̨̢̨̻̫̦̦̞̣̟̠̱̭̬̜͙̳̫̎͗̄́͐̈́̉̽̐̂͝h̵̢̹͓͓̯̤͖̲̝̝̥͔̘̋̀͐̐͋̊ǫ̵̢̧̢̰͈̥̖͙͖̪̟͙͌̈͂͌̿̅̏̍̕͜͜͜͜ͅu̴̧̮͇͔̭̫̺͖̝̐̐̎̌̾̈́l̶̼͔͇̩̖̪̬̦̞͉̬̱̱̙̳̙͈̎̿̌̍̏͋͑̿̅͘̕͘͜d̵͚̞̝͔̺̱͖̬̼̈́̀͒̽̄͝ ̴͓̦̻̠͚̎̏h̴̘̫͍̟̏̽͊̓́̓͂̃a̴̠̙͗̂̓͂̽͗͊̆͋͠v̴̮̫̘̞̖͛̓̊̆̑͐̍̔̓͘͠e̴̜͖̯̲̹͆̒͌̃͝͝ ̶͙́̏̈́̌̿̉̈̌͛̎̉̉g̷̢̳̗͋̿̂̅o̴̡̜͎̻̥̰͙̺̹͕͔͌͑ͅn̶͓̖̻̂̋͠ę̴̜̒̇́ ̸͙͆̋̈́̾͑͂̚̚f̸̛̛͖͍̰̞̝͒̔̀͌͌͑̆̄́͘͜ơ̵̳̮̲̮̦̼͔̩̟͒̂͆̈̋̉̉͒͋̀͂̃̄̊͘̕ŗ̴̛̦͍̦̬͇͈̽͆̆̓̾̑̀̓̋ͅͅ ̷͖̃̇̐̅̓̿͒̕t̴̗̓́̓̏̍͑̆̽͋̊̈̕̚h̵̨̻̱̣͎̦̠̗̙̘̩̫̉̄̒͛̓̑͗͝e̷̛̛͉̣͇͙̘̔̈́̉̀̆̊́̇͊͆̈́̾̕͝͠͠ ̷̡̥͚̠̖̋̇̄͑̾̎́̑͆͘̕H̴͉̼̯̯͕͎̙̠̺͕̭̯̣̭̣̻̠͗̈́͜͠ͅȦ̵̜̱͍̰͚͙̖̮̗͙̪͈͉̟͐̌̊̌͘͜͝T̶̡͖̘̙͓̙̞̝͔̲͕̯̤͍͈̥̓̈́͒̆͒̎̅̅͌͗͝ ̴̣̗̘̣̣͍͗̆͋̆̾̄̌̔̈̃̀̊̕͝f̵̨̮͇̦̯͉̙̬͚̜̙̳͖͍̖͒̂͛́̍̈̓̏̆͊͆̕͝͝ȉ̶͇̳͎̱̩͍͕̹̟̖̝̉̐͐̈́̆͊̊͌͑͑̉͛͘͝͝r̵̢͈͎̪̹̗̪̖̘̣̿̍̄̐̕̕ş̵̝̩͕̠̬̼͗͛̈͒͠t̷̩̣̐͐͗͑!̸̝̌̑̚͝"̵̢̜͍̥͕̏̏͒͌͊̌̍̏͐̔͑̚͝**

 

 

Something black darts through your shrinking field of vision; a long, bloody tentacle that wraps itself around your shoulders and then you feel the strange yet ridiculously underwhelming pressure of a hat being placed onto your skull.

What happens next is only a blur, your human mind not able to comprehend what is going on, but what you see and feel is enough to traumatize you forever: a surge of power races through you, freeing you from the magic trapping your body. In fact, it frees you from the laws of the physical world, too. Before your eyes you transform into something horrible and a giant, raw hull envelops you, encases you like a thick, ravenous swamp come to life, forcing its way through your mouth, your nostrils, your ears, everything! A terrible, unearthly shriek tears from your body, both bodies, almost shattering the very fabric of reality and then you see, through too many eyes that open at once in the surging mass of flesh covering your face, how Wingdings gets torn apart with one vicious slash from a barbed tentacle, the mask-like skull cracking in two before his black body slowly dissolves and vanishes. But you can still hear him.

    “You can’t stop this, ______! It has all been set into motion! You can’t run away from your fate, I made sure of that!” His shouted curses and the cackling laughter subside yet continue to echo through your head. As soon as the threat is gone the whirling, suffocating mass spits you out in a flood of slime and blood, the hat being brutally ripped from the crown of your head where it had began to fuse with your scalp and you scream out at the pain of having it removed, scream in dismay at the loss of unfathomable power you experienced for not even a minute! You manage to stumble one, two steps away before you collapse on the ground face first, your body even more drained than before. With a pained groan you turn onto your back, retching to get the disgusting taste out of your mouth, your skin feeling as though a million filthy fingers are running over it. Something wet crawls up your bare leg and you whine at the gross new sensation, feebly kicking your feet to thrash it off but it keeps dragging itself up your body.

    “No… not again!” you hiss, feeling hot tears on your cheeks. “Get off… let go!” But then a dry, leathery hand wraps around yours, seizing it in a firm grip. You open your eyes, shock making the breath in your throat hitch. _Blackhat_. He looks… corporeal again, although worse for wear. His face is etched with harsh lines caused by pain, the single, now once again white eye sunken in and surrounded by deeper creases than ever. He’s only dressed in his red shirt and dress pants, the rest of his usual attire nowhere to be seen, except for the hat of course but you quickly lower your eyes again. His chest is heaving, harried beyond exertion, sweat covering his bare skin. There’s no grin this time, not even a smirk; the wide mouth is instead set into a thin, firmly pressed line, traces of the black substance smudged across his face. He looks… _old_. The monocle is still cracked and that is the only thing that still scares you as you return the clutch of his hand, rolling over to get on your knees and sit up, promptly falling forward and against him, almost knocking both of you to the ground again. His other arm wraps around you to steady him, a strained growl ripping from his chest.

    “… loyal…” You’re not sure you heard him correctly and return only a confused noise. Blackhat groans, cursing under his breath. “After everything that’s… you decide to be loyal to me… you idiot. You… could have been free…” A cough shuts him up and you weakly shake your head.

    “No…” Sensing his rising irritation you hurry to continue: “Maybe from _you_ , but I’d still be stranded here. Plus, you don’t really believe Dementia would just let me go with you gone? I do need you. And now, you _owe_ me, motherfucker… you owe me so much I could demand anything from you right now!” You manage to lift your head under enormous effort, shooting his disbelieving Lordship a grin that you hope is at least a little bit wicked and not just a miserable grimace. After another beat his own smirk returns, if a little pained.

    “You… will make an _exceptional_ villain one day. Now, be a dear and help me up, will you? I need a stiff drink after all this fuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... anyone else need a weighted blanket and some herbal tea rn? I sure do, what a ride!
> 
> ###  Alas, my dearies, 'tis the season! I'll be taking a Christmas break from the 16th to the 29th of December! **Next update on the 5th of January!** I'm sorry to leave yall for so long, but I need some time off for my family and friends and after that, the schedule will continue as usual
> 
> Thank you guys so much for this wonderful journey so far, I can't tell you enough how happy I am ♥ I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and a good start into 2020, can you believe?? I'm looking forward to new Villainous episodes already!!!


	33. A Horrible Christmas Special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise my little thieves! And a happy Christmas morning, time to open your presents! 
> 
> You honestly didn't expect me to leave yall without a chapter on CHRISTMAS?! No way, Jose! I have cooked up a mighty monster of a Christmas special and I hope you enjoy it over the holidays... because it's super-fricking-long omfg

# How Black Hat Ruined Christmas

### (Again)

 

 

Every villain in Hatsville liked Christmas a lot! But Lord Blackhat, who lived in the center of Hatsville, did not! Blackhat _hated_ Christmas, the whole Christmas season! Now, please don’t ask why, I’m sure you all know the reason. It’s not because his hat wasn’t screwed on just right. And definitely not because his shoes were too tight. No, I think the most likely reason of all may have been that- Hm? His heart? Two sizes too small? Oh please, don’t be a fool, Blackhat doesn’t have a heart _at all_.

But no matter the reason, or none as I recall, he stood there one day before Christmas, and hated them all. Staring down from his office with a sour, eldritch frown at the warm lighted windows in the distant town. For he knew even the villains in Hatsville beneath were busy with hanging-

    “What the fuck-, Dementia, is that a _mistletoe wreath_?!”

The cry of our thief disrupts the Lord's brooding, and the following cackle of mania is even more so intruding. Blackhat snarls and bares all his huge teeth, flinching when Dementia yells back: “Of course it’s a mistletoe wreath! It’s almost Christmas, silly! And I need to step up my game so Blackhat will gift me his-“

    “ _Enough with the rhymes you pathetic excuse for a penman_!” Blackhat roars at the ceiling, and I stop right away. This was getting pretty dumb anyway. Now if you’ll excuse, as rhymes really aren’t my cup of tea, I’ll be outside, to chop down a Christmas tree.

 

You stare up to where Dementia is currently hot-gluing twigs of mistletoe to every square inch she can reach. Which is literally every square inch since she sticks to the ceiling like a gecko without any visible strain or a sign she might need to come down anytime soon. How you envy her for that ability. Your neck complains against the extreme overstretch and you take a few steps back in the hallway to get a broader view of Dem’s latest Christmas-mayhem. By now she has already covered half of the second floor corridor in mistletoe and you don’t need to be an evil mastermind to guess what she’s probably up to.

    “You’re… uh… laying another trap for the boss?” you ask anyway, just to be sure. Dementia giggles maniacally, her hands and face already covered in glue that’s dripped down from the ceiling and her hot-glue gun, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care much about it.

    “Isn’t this brilliant?! If every part of the manor has a mistletoe to stand underneath, I just have to wait until he runs into me! I’m a genius!” More cackling but this time she already sounds like Flug after he’s had a few cups of bean juice too many while working on an overdue project at 4 am. You open your mouth but then the words just fail you. Her logic, however crazed and delusional it may be, is actually one you can’t deny. You shift the heavy bag on your shoulder and snicker to yourself.

    “But what if you run into someone else under those? I’m literally under the same mistletoe as you are right now.” You tease her and Dementia quickly scuttles away from where you’re standing with a shriek.

    “No, get away from me!! Temptress! I’m saving myself for marriage! With Blackhat!” Now you can’t help but laugh in earnest.

    “’course you are. Aww, a shame, I was already putting on chapstick and all that. Booie. Well, I gotta deliver my loot. See ya, Dee!”

    “Hey! Hey! Don’t you dare run into my Blackhat under one of these or I will snap your neck twice!” she yells after you and you wave her off. Like Blackhat would be stupid enough to set one foot out of his office during the Christmas season. He had been holed up in there for the last two weeks and had not come out once, not even to terrorize his employees, so you had finally gotten some much-needed sleep, Dem had quickly seized control over the mansion in his absence, and Flug and 5.0.5 were, for once, free to do a bit of father-son-bonding without any horrible repercussions. In fact, you had just poked your head in through the kitchen door after returning from your latest mission, to find them both in there, baking and decorating Christmas cookies. You even had the feeling Flug looked like he was actually 20 percent less stressed than the entire rest of the year. Now, the same could not be said about the boss, quite the opposite actually. Ever since the first of December, his entire mood could only be described as entirely and utterly _foul_.

With Dementia’s hummed version of 12 Days of Christmas in your ears, you exhale forcefully and then knock on the black door to his office. A wordless growl is your order to enter and you close your eyes for a second, sending a quick prayer to whatever power was still somehow looking out for you, and slip through the door that closes itself behind you with a loud slam. The office is so dark you can barely make out the many portraits and trophies on the walls. Only a small sliver of red light from between the drawn curtains illuminates the silhouette of your boss’s tall chair behind the desk and if it hadn’t been for the red disk of his monocle gleaming at you from the shadows, you wouldn’t have known he was even in here. Green teeth are bared at your dilly-dallying and you briskly walk up to the desk, smothering the warning cries in your own head to get the fuck out while you still can.

    “Mission accomplished, boss. One shrunk Ruby Pure Heart fresh out of Pure Heart Valley. That should stop Orangusnake from pestering you about it once and for all, huh?” you add once you heaved the still massive crystal heart onto the desk. The burlap sack falls away, revealing the beautifully cut pink ruby in a heart shape, shining like lava in the light from the red window. Suddenly you notice something on it and hiss in a breath. There was a crack in the surface! _Oh fuck when did that even happen?!_ Nobody had caught you when you were shrinking the damn thing from the size of a small mountain to merely two feet in length, so when had-

    “The crack has always been there.” Blackhat suddenly says, obviously having seen the despair on your face. He stands up from his chair and places a hand on the ruby, inspecting it more closely. His mouth remains set into an irritated scowl, the antennae-like eyebrows drawn so close together they’re almost touching each other under the brim of his top hat. You swallow and hold your breath. The heist went without a hitch this time, the nightly town of Pure Heart Valley remained asleep even when the crystal's weakened force field had collapsed for good. Flug’s shrink ray gun was probably your most favorite invention of his. You could theoretically steal entire planets if he just ramped up its performance, and you’re about to pitch this idea to Blackhat when he looks up from the crystal and pierces you with a long glare. You freeze like a deer in the headlights.

    “S- something wrong, boss?” you chance to ask, the hand in your jacket’s pocket cramping reflexively around one of the smoke bombs. You had found out that those where actually pretty effective, especially when combined with the stealth module Flug recently built for you as an upgrade, ever since you had stolen a rare plane for him. Blackhat slowly steps around his desk, still without a word, but you can clearly see that something is going on under that black top hat, some vile plan about to hatch most likely! You stay where you are and keep very still as he begins to circle you, rubbing his chin with a gloved hand. Then a chuckle slowly works its way out his chest, soon evolving into a real laughter and you nervously join in with it, racking your brain trying to figure out what in the ever-loving fuck he’s suddenly so joyous about! Or maybe he’s gone completely bonkers now. You don’t know what would be worse.

    “You just gave me an awful idea, my dear ______. You gave me a wonderful, awful idea!” He rasps out and places a hand on your back, of course right on the branding that pulses at his touch.

    “Uh…” you utter, sweating under your jacket. “You’re… welcome?” Immediately the hand flies up to smack the back of your head.

    “Shut up. As I am sure you already know from all the… _joyful cheer in the air_ ,” he spits the sentence out in his most distorted demon-voice, and you can’t help the shiver grabbing hold of you, “Christmas is almost upon us. This blasted holiday is the very bane of my existence, it’s making my skin itch just thinking about it! All this disgusting love and joy, it makes me _sick_!” Your eyes are round with surprise. You’ve seen and heard Blackhat ranting about weird stuff before, but never about something harmless like this, and so openly. It’s so bizarre you can’t help but chase it up immediately: “Hold on, you really hate Christmas that much that you get physically _affected_ by it?! So, if I wished you a Merry Christmas right now would you-"

Before you can slap yourself for yet another brilliant interjection, Blackhat has spun around to you and grabs the collar of your jacket with both hands, now claws, dragging you up to his twisted face.

    “ _You_ would not survive it, _trust_ me. And I don’t think I would bother to resurrect you, I’d just blend your soul with a bit of eggnog instead and neck that in one go while I roast your carcass over a fire!” he hisses with barely controlled rage, green spittle raining down on you in a spray. You pointedly wipe your face and grimace.

    “Ugh, eggnog? I hate that stuff. Boil me in hot cocoa and we have a deal.”

Blackhat regards you with a blank expression for another second and drops you again, turning his glare to the window with another snarl now.

     “If I could work my will, and don’t think I can’t, every idiot who goes about with Merry Christmas on their lips would be boiled with their own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through their heart. No-one is safe from its sickeningly sweet and poisonous influence, not even villains! Every year I deliberate if I shall have them all thrown into the pits of Hell for this disgraceful weakness… but once in a blue moon, I decide instead to have a little fun myself on Christmas eve.” The last words are accompanied by one of his more wicked grins and you immediately regret giving him this awful idea, however you managed to do that.

    “Oh, okay?” you mumble, a little confused and more than a little apprehensive. “Um, can I go now? Flug probably wants his gun back and I’m sure Orangusnake might want to pick up the Heart asap, you know, to take over their entire world, sooo, I better contact them-" You fall silent with a startled sound when he reaches out a hand, but Blackhat merely shoos you out like an annoying fly, still grinning.

    “Don’t make yourself all too comfortable, little thief. You will have more to do than you can handle soon enough.” And he goes straight back to chuckling ominously, so you turn on your heel and all but sprint out of the office. The door you push open so quickly knocks Dementia right off the ceiling, just as she is about to glue an entire strand of mistletoes over it. Before you can evade she crashes down on top of you, pulling you to the floor.

    “Hey, what the hell!?” she complains and nudges your side with a sharp elbow. You groan in pain and crawl away from under her.

    “Sorry, Dem. Man I would not mess with him right now if I were you. He’s gone completely nuts!” She snorts and jumps to her feet, fluffing her hair with a flirtatious giggle.

    “Of course, who wouldn’t go nuts for _this_?” You turn around and suddenly notice what she’s wearing.

    “Uh… is that- is that a Santa Claus outfit?” It is. Dementia has exchanged her usual lizard hoodie for a green Christmas hat with horns and bells, a black choker, a very revealing red top with a black belt, a red skirt and red and white striped stockings that end in black military boots. She looks great, but you really don’t want to be in the immediate vicinity when Blackhat catches her wearing that getup. After what he just told you, you’re sure he’s gonna hurl a stream of acid vomit into her face.

    “You like it? I want to get Blackhat in the right mood for Christmas smooches!”

 _Yeah, please define the right mood. If it’s murderous you are spot on, Dee,_ you think, trying your hardest not to grimace.

    “You look really cute.” You say, sincere, pointing a thumb to the elevator behind you. “I’m going down to the lab to finish my mission.” Dementia stops in her ascend back up the wall and looks over her shoulder.

    “Oh, do you want to help me with this? We could finish plastering the entire mansion in no time!” You make a face now after all, the unpleasant sting in your chest flaring up again like it has the entire month.

    “Um, I’m not really in a christmassy mood, Dee. But don’t let me spoil your fun, you got this.” And before she can say anything else you have already vanished inside the elevator and hit the button to the underground lab. Laying your head back against the cage wall, you close your eyes and fight the urge to cry. _Why did she have to wear that stupid dress? Now I’m thinking about them again…_

Not that Frisk would have ever worn something like that in their life, no, but you still vividly remember that first Christmas with them in South City when you were both strolling through the bustling shopping district of uptown, out to shake and scam some easy targets off their hard earned dollars. But instead you had decided to just look at the mall windows like you were regular shoppers enjoying the Christmas fair with all its bright lights, knickknack booths and cheesy decorations. You had pulled Frisk back by their sleeve at one window in particular and pointed at the mannequin, almost spitting out the hot cocoa you were nursing.

    “I will literally _buy_ you this if you wear it _once_!” You had wheezed, laughing so hard you couldn’t even stand upright. Frisk had shot you a smirk and then shook their head.

    “I will _literally_ kill you if you even try it!” they had replied with a snort. The outfit in question had been a skimpy Christmas mini-dress complete with black over knee boots, gloves and white fur around the heart-shaped, lavish neckline. Frisk eyed it closer and scrunched up their nose. “I mean, it’s not ugly. But it’s… no, wait, it’s actually worse.” And then you had both laughed yourself silly.

Despite the pain you smile quietly and almost miss the elevator door opening on the sub level of the mansion. It feels weird to find the lab silent and abandoned, without Flug’s muttering and tinkering and soft sobbing whenever something would turn out wrong again, and you hurry to put his gun back and write a quick report on the computer, as well as a message to Orangusnake that their package was ready to be picked up. Pure Heart Valley had also been in the Christmas spirit, the cute little town covered in a heavy blanket of snow that had made it a bit harder for you to get around without leaving too many tracks. Come to think of it, that was the third world out of three you knew that celebrated Christmas, and if every other dimension in his network had the same holiday, and still managed to keep it, it seems a lot more logical now that Blackhat would be so furious about it. Maybe that was also the reason why he didn’t just get out of Hatsville for the time being and brood somewhere else in peace where there were no Christmas carols around for miles. It wasn’t like the organization wouldn’t run without him present, since Flug did basically everything. Wait, were they probably even celebrating Christmas in Hell?!

Now you snort out a real laugh, picturing the upbeat, impeccable and equally disturbing Alastor in a Santa Claus costume! Although with those antlers and teeth he could probably pull off a much more accurate and creepy version of the Krampus.

Suddenly you feel your hackles rising in a cold sensation of dread, and since you had quickly learned to read these cues for your own safety, you have already turned around when Blackhat appears right behind you out of nowhere. He could still scare the absolute crap out of you if he wanted, but this was sort of his polite knock at the proverbial door, if not to actually be polite then only because otherwise he’d risk yet another ear-piercing tirade of you to not fucking scare the crap out of you! Ever since the disaster with Wingdings he had been… well not nice to you, good God don’t be absurd!, but let’s go with civil- no, wait that’s also not it. Well, he didn’t quite treat you like an _absolute_ asshole anymore. Only on special occasions. But since you never knew when he deemed a situation special, you were always prepared for everything. Or you tried to at least.

    “Boss,” you greet him cautiously, “anything else you need? If it’s another job can I first take a shower?” He's eyeing you with a little too much enthusiasm and a grin that’s just a tad too wide for your liking and you already fear you’re not gonna like what happens next, when he raises a hand to wave you off.

    “Oh no, nothing like that, I really only need a little-" With a speed you can’t even comprehend his other hand shoots forward and back again before you even feel the prick of the needle he just jammed into your arm. Your yelp is more one of start than actual pain but you instantly cover your arm with your hand and recoil from Blackhat who swiftly puts the bloodied needle into a glass tube and stoppers it. “Blood. Here we are. That was already everything I required.“ And without another word he vanishes again, leaving you confused and pumped with adrenaline that doesn’t know where to go now that the threat is gone.

    “What the fuck was that all about?!” you hiss with wide eyes, feeling the tiny puncture wound throbbing beneath your hand.

 

-

 

Frozen snow crunches softly under your feet and every step helps disperse the agitated energy still trapped inside you. The sun is already setting on Hatsville, its waning light strange and not quite right due to the huge, greenish clouds that cover the sky in a thick blanket. Your breath escapes you in a big, white plume, displaying the bitter cold better than the redness around your nose, and you quickly snuffle, trying to shove your gloved hands deeper into the pockets of your leather jacket. You had worn it in winter before, many winters actually, ever since you had stolen it from that passed-out drunk biker in one of the many bars you would sneak into at 16. It wasn’t padded or really fit for these freezing temperatures at all, but you knew how to keep warm outside.

    “Hey, one mulled wine.” You say to the old guy at the wine and cocoa booth on the Hatsville Christmas fair, throwing some cash on the counter. He grumbles something back and not a minute later he places a steaming cup of spiced wine in front of you.

    “Merry Christmas to you miss.” He says, a little friendlier and you raise the mug in a toast but keep your silence. While you were absolutely flabbergasted that the rugged, shady inhabitants of Hatsville even knew how to do Christmas, it wasn’t quite enough to pull you out of your own personal funk this year. Your first Christmas without Frisk in over a decade. Even when you had been out of town for the holidays to heist your ass off so Sans would not beat you up for Christmas, you had always made sure to be back home in time to shower Frisk with presents on Christmas morning and make them feel loved and cherished to forget the hardship of simply being alive just for a single day. And you could tell, each year, how it nourished that tiny light they kept shielded away from the dark world outside. But nothing would ever even come close to that first Christmas eve when you…

A small tear drips into your cup of steaming wine.

    “God fucking dammit.” You mutter and quickly chuck the hot alcohol, promptly burning your tongue and gums but you don’t mind the pain, welcome it since it drowns out the other, deeper agony you feel, and gives way to another form of energy, one that compels you to move and do something to chase away the ghosts of Christmas past. Slinking away from the mulled wine stand you swiftly move like a phantom through the crowd of slow-walking people that take literal ages to check out the other booths of the small fair. With dream-like instincts your hands slip into pockets and bags, removing wallets and loose cash, more than you have room for in your jacket actually, so that at the next stall you buy a little stuffed teddy bear for 5.0.5 and tell the old woman behind the counter to give you a bigger bag.

    “I might come back later.” You say with a wink and the hag smiles at you, her mouth a gaping black hole without any teeth. You resume your looting-spree but each pocket picked makes you feel lousier and when you’re at the other end of the fair, your fists are balled tightly by your sides in silent anger and you just stand there in the snow, teeth clenched against the bitterness and cold that command them to chatter and click.

_Click._

    “I always thought this was supposed to be a time of joy and goodwill toward men, but all I am sensing here is utter misery and contempt.” Blackhat rasps behind you, taking a deep breath that he exhales with an appreciative hum. “How very _refreshing_.” You turn around to him and almost jump back in start when your brain understands what your eyes are seeing before you. The man standing behind you is _clearly_ your eldritch boss, and yet he looks completely different. You want to say human, but there are still so many things about him absolutely _not_ human that the entire image is more jarring to you than his usual demonic appearance: his dark skin is just a bit too ashen for a human complexion and so matte it seems to swallow the light. The pupil of his visible eye is dark and round for a change but the lines beneath it seem too stark to be natural. There is a nose in his face, narrow and sharp like the beak of a hawk, with wide nostrils, the mouth beneath still too wide and the lips way too thin. The teeth he flashes at you in a wolfish grin are human as well, but jagged and long, with a strange green hue to them. You can’t see any hair poking out from under the hat’s brim, but ears, gnarled and pointed at the top. His eyebrows seem less like antennae now, although being too long grown either way.

Your gaze travels further down, to the blood red scarf he wears wrapped around his neck in a precise knot. His coat is the same as always, except that the collar is pressed down for a change.

    “Jesus boss, you’re giving me the creeps in that getup, ugh!” you wheeze out and take a quick look around. As expected the other visitors of the fair keep a huge distance to Blackhat, all Christmas cheer suddenly sucked out of the air and even the sky itself seems a whole lot darker already than a few seconds ago. You shiver, but it’s not entirely because of the cold. Blackhat scowls at you and you groan at the strange facial features twisting. “Seriously, this is worse than everything you ever did to traumatize me! Combined!”

    “Really? Well colour me flattered. Maybe I should show up like this the next time I feel the urge to fu-"

    “Do not – and I repeat – do _not_ do this or I will throw myself out the window!” you all but yell and raise both your hands to keep the illusion of a distance between you, feeling your face flush. Blackhat just grins wider and now you can see that his canines are just a little too long and sharp.

    “How poetic… and utterly useless. If all it would just turn me on more to have you crippled and defenseless out in the snow.” He tells you. You grimace.

    “Eugh, you’re so gross.” Then you nod your head back at the fair, forcefully changing the subject. “Why are you out here anyway? I thought all this made you sick.” He chuckles and holds out his right arm to you, the gesture so unmistakable and commanding you only roll your eyes before you take his arm and he starts walking back over the fair, through the quickly dispersing crowd of people who don’t even look like they’re actively trying to get out of his way but seem to avoid his presence more out of their instinct for self-preservation. Blackhat’s cane clicks on the cobblestone.

    “Usually I would chop off both my legs before I set a foot outside this time of year but, as I said before, you gave me a marvelous idea for some fun, not to mention this exquisite misery you are exuding. You don’t seem too fond of this disgusting holiday either my dear.”

    “Not anymore, that’s for damn sure.” You mutter out before you can think about it. Blackhat chuckles maliciously next to you, causing the hairs on your arms to shoot upright beneath the jacket.

  “So, will you help me destroy this blasted celebration?” he proposes out of the blue and you stop in your tracks, sliding your hand out of the crook of his arm.

    “Are you serious? How the hell would we even do that?” _And more importantly, why should I?!_ His single eye pierces you where you stand before it darts down to your SOUL.

    “I already have everything I need right here.” With a flick of his wrist the glass tube with your blood suddenly appears between his fingers and is stashed away again just as quickly. You frown but he already continues: “And while I don’t necessarily need _your_ compliance, I know it would be… cathartic for you to get over this pathetic depression you’re nursing at the moment. Just look at these idiots.” He adds with a low growl and waves his cane around at the people of Hatsville. “The scum of this earth, never aspiring to anything greater… why should they be happy this time of year and you not? It is not fair, right? If it wasn’t for all this hubbub you wouldn’t even be thinking about your precious Frisk again, would you?”

A hot flash of anger shoots through you and you grab him by the collar of his coat, teeth bared.

    “You asshole, don’t you dare bring that up-"

  “So you don’t deny it, then?” Blackhat interjects, raising a brow at you. “That you hate it almost just as much as I do? That you wished, just for once, the entire world would feel as miserable as you do? I am offering you a chance to do exactly that and earn yourself… a _favor_. No strings attached.”

Now you’re listening closely. Reluctantly, but you’re not entirely averse anymore. He had already said that he didn’t really need you for this, but getting a favor for a little bit of mischief…

    “Alright, what the hell. I’m in.”

Blackhat’s human face distorts in an unnatural way, his grin resembling the unearthly ones he’d usually shoot you to a frightening degree.

    “ _Excellent._ Come to my office after dark, we have a lot to do and not much time.” And with that, he vanishes into the ground and is gone. You gnaw on your lip and let your gaze wander over the snow-covered houses and dark skyscrapers in the distance. The bitter feeling has returned with a vengeance at his words and it is only now that you realize how right Blackhat is about you, once again.

You really want to help ruin Christmas _._

 

-

 

Despite wanting to help ruin Christmas for the entire world outside, you feel the almost compulsive need to continue what you had done all those Christmases before, ever since you had found Frisk: spoil someone. But now that you had bought (and stolen) more stuffed animals and other toys for 5.0.5 than you could carry, you feel like you should get Flug something, too, if only to embarrass him because you knew he had nothing for you. And Dementia as well or she would get mad at you for leaving her out of the fun. So you still had to get them both a present within one day while also helping Blackhat.

You pause right then when you’re sneaking back into the mansion, one leg already through the window of the kitchen. But just as quickly you shake your head, clucking your tongue at yourself. _There’s no way I’m getting Blackhat anything, don’t be stupid!_ You really had a death-wish if that thought even had a chance to cross your mind! Unless it was your SOUL on a platter, your boss would shove any present you dared to give him down your throat for you to choke on it. Yeah, you could probably skip Blackhat with presents this year. And the next. And the one after that. Probably better to hide the presents for Dem, Flug and 5.0.5 as well or you’d all pay for joining in on the Christmas joy instead of respecting his hatred and hating it along with him.

    “Baow?” You start and promptly tumble down the window sill at 5.0.5’s growl. One of the stuffed animals squeaks horrendously when your butt lands on it and you quickly hide all the bags behind your back.

    “Hey, bud!” you blurt out, caught, and quickly jump to your feet, tutting when the big blue bear tries to peek over your shoulder. “Nuh-uh, 5.0.5. No lookie-loo.” But you can’t keep a grin and his eyes grow a bit rounder and sparklier before he takes a step back to give you space to move, turning towards the sheet of fresh cookies. Your stomach growls at the symphony of smells and you could really use something in there to suck up the wine before facing Blackhat again. The cookies are still warm and taste so good that you pause for a second, your eyes fluttering shut with a moan. 5.0.5 turns back to you and smiles happily. The sweet Christmas treat is enough to chase the bitterness out of you and you hug the bear impulsively, burying your face in the soft fur that smells like honey and sunshine.

    “I love you bud.” You murmur, giving his side a scratch that makes him thump his foot. When you let go you give him a beaming smile. “Are you already excited for Christmas?” He nods his head so hard the flower bops back and forth in a flurry. You snicker. “Well I’m sure you’ve been a very good boy this year. Santa’s gonna shower you in presents. I _know_ it.” You lower your voice into a whisper. “Because I broke into his workshop!” 5.0.5 gasps in shock and quickly covers his mouth with his paws. You shoot him a wink and turn to leave, taking two more cookies for the road.

The presents for 5.0.5 are quickly hidden away in your room, although you take a bit longer to find a place where not even Dementia would likely find them. In the end you decide to put them into one of the drawers in your wardrobe and spread out a bunch of clothes over them. Surprisingly enough Dem still doesn’t rummage through your stuff in this dresser, for whatever reason. By now it is pitch black outside and you quickly jog down the stairs to the second floor, approaching the office door for the second time this day with your heart pounding anxiously in your chest. You just hope this wonderful, awful idea of his doesn’t involve your SOUL getting finally harvested.

Despite all that you knock briefly and already pull the door open before Blackhat can answer, resulting in a grumpy frown from him. For once he’s not standing behind his desk to stare out the window, but in the middle of the room. You raise an eyebrow.

    “Sorry, boss. Did I interrupt something?” It sure looks like it. There’s something on the floor before his feet, looking awfully like a pentagram, or summoning circle. Without realizing it, you take a step back. “Uh, if  this is a bad time-“

    “Get over here already, you’re _late_.” Blackhat growls and points to his heel. You do what he says and position yourself next to him, shuffling just a little away when he’s not looking. He cracks his knuckles and stretches out his hands over the circle like he’s about to play the piano, a wicked grin on his face. “Now, the being I will summon to aid us in destroying this sickening holiday is almost as cunning as I am, ruthless, vile and dangerous! Do not fall for his tricks, and stay on your guard. Although I doubt he will be stupid enough to try anything with me present. He’s too smart for that.”

The longer he’s talking about this entity, the more nervous you get. Great, not another otherworldly monster of power and evil greater than you can fathom! Why did you have to keep giving Blackhat ideas for chaos and destruction?! And why couldn’t he just call someone else for help? Someone you liked! Like Alastor the Radio Demon, or Metauro, or-

Red lightning shoots out of the ground within the circle and you recoil in earnest, eyes glued to the billowing smoke rising from the scorched carpet. Blackhat’s voice has dropped into that deep demonic snarl he also only used for special occasions, like summoning all-powerful entities apparently, hissing out words in a strange, vile language. Your thumbs brush over the hidden knives in your jacket’s sleeves, both to calm yourself and to prepare for whatever terrible, eldritch horror you’re about to encounter this time. With a final, blinding flash the ritual is completed, and Blackhat crosses his hands on his back, the grin widening impossibly.

You try to peer through the thick smoke, tensing when you hear something coughing and hacking. A silhouette rises from the ground, tall and lanky, skinny, with wild hair and for a second you’re utterly confused, but then you realize that it’s not a distant relative of Alastor, but rather-

  “Oh God, not again! Not this bullshit again! Fuuuuck!” The voice is _dripping_ with cynicism and desperate anger, and then the creature belches so loudly and long your mouth simply falls open. With a quick slap Blackhat tosses the hood of your jacket over your head, causing the cursed mask to wrap itself over your face. _Oh, right, probably should’ve thought of that myself_. The being in the circle waves his skinny arms about, dispersing the last wisps of smoke, and then he’s face to face with Blackhat. Suddenly you’re glad that your face isn’t visible, you’ve completely lost all control over your expressions.

Blackhat didn’t summon a demon from Hell. And neither did he call upon any other Outer Gods or monsters. He had summoned an old man, a scientist, judging by the stained lab coat and the crazy hair. To say you’re confused would be the understatement of the millennium. The man’s frown deepens, the thick, blue-grey unibrow creasing over his eyes. One of his hands quickly reaches into the lab coat but stays there when Blackhat only chuckles maliciously and points down to the pentagram with a shake of his head. The summoned scientist groans and slaps the hand over his face before crossing his arms. “Alright, what do you want t- this time?” he slurs. You blink behind your mask. Was that guy… drunk?! To your side Blackhat waves his hand around in an arch and brings it in front of his chest again, clenched into a fist.

    “Greetings, Mr. Sanchez. We meet yet again.” He rasps and the old man flinches back with a face of disgust.

    “Ugh, always with the overused, cliché villain one-liners. That shit’s so outdated, but then again look whooo- _urk_ -‘s talking, Jack the Ripper. And I told you to call me Rick? Only hookers call me Mr. Sanchez.” He jeers and you can’t help but snort. Immediately his eyes dart to you. Their intensity betrays his otherwise cool demeanor. That man knew he was in danger and he was ready to kill to get out of it. You fall silent, glad the mask is hiding your face. Rick Sanchez scrutinizes you and scoffs. “A- and who are you supposed to be, a shattered-mirror Spider- Spidergwen rip-off?! Seriously, what kind of dimension has so many overly ridiculous villain-characters running around without collapsing in on itself?! I mean is this the worst timeline ever or what? Huh? Any-anyone?” Blackhat only pierces him with a bored look once his rambling is over, and you simply don’t have any words. When nobody reacts to him, Rick scowls again. “Well fuck you, too.”

    “If you are quite done, Rick, I have need of your scientific expertise.” Blackhat begins, only to be interrupted by him again: “Oh, you have a need, huh? Go find another Rick then, pal. This one has a plate of amazing, steaming fried eggs wait- _uuurp_ -ing back in his dimension, and I don’t want them getting cold. You ever tried reheating eggs? It’s gross, nay, it’s impossible, even for me, it’s the one mystery I haven’t cracked!” Suddenly his body gets engulfed in a red glow and you already know what’s about to happen before Rick screams out in pain. But Blackhat lets him go pretty quickly, obviously too impatient to overly indulge in torture.

    “Are you done _now_?” The eldritch god growls menacingly. “I need you to build me a cloning device. A _good_ one that won’t require more than a few drops of blood.” You throw Blackhat a baffled look, alarm bells already starting to ring in the back of your head. Rick has recovered from the punishment and picks himself off the floor, slapping dust from his coat. He scoffs.

    “Pshh, I thought you were some outer-dimensional god or whatever, and you can’t even multiply yourself? Laaaaaaame-uh!” He’s right, in a way, although for a different reason than he might think. You turn to Blackhat, touching the sleeve of his black coat to get his attention. The single eye darts down to you in a silent threat which you brush aside.

    “Uh, yeah, why the hell are you kidnapping old ass scientists now, boss? Don’t we have a… strapping, young mad scientist right here who’s not a total dickhead?” You hear Rick snorting.

    “Oh wow, aren’t you a charmer, missy. Rrrrreal peach. Hey Lord douchehat, this your new girlfriend? Where- Where’d the fucking lizard go?” Yet his taunt is completely ignored by Blackhat, who nudges his chin in Rick’s general direction.

    “Make no mistake, my little thief.” – “Ou la la; grooss!” – “This man’s skills exceed those of our good doctor by leagues and he even rivals most ultimate villains in both ruthlessness and malignity. And he owes me a _favor_. Isn’t that right, Rick?” Blackhat finishes with another wide, triumphing grin, his visible eye rolling back into his head in glee. Rick groans, rubbing his face with a hand again.

    “Ugh, I really should stop p- prank calling alternate realities when I’m high as fuck and drunk. The one time I make a deal with a shady businessman over the phone!” Suddenly he points a finger at your boss. “You can’t hold me up to a deal I made when I was _clearly_ inebriated. That _contract_ is worth as much as this:” And he just lets a fart rip, making you laugh out loud in surprise. You’re starting to warm up to this grumpy, rude scientist who obviously has no regard for his own life, or simply knows that Blackhat won’t kill him right away because he still has something the horrible businessman wants. Indeed, your boss just keeps staring at him, but then his grin returns with full force and you get a really bad feeling instantly. He raises a gloved hand that transforms into a set of long claws, red and green smoke curling up from his palm to form a face, a boy. Rick freezes where he stands and bares his teeth in impotent fury. Blackhat grins wider.

     “I brought him back for you when you couldn’t, didn’t I? _Your_ grandson, and not simply one of the thousand others out there. And you know there is nothing that would stop me from taking him away again, don’t you, Rick? I can still hear your pathetic begging to return him to you.”

    “Son of a bitch.” Rick grinds out through his teeth. “Fine. But I’m not cloning you, no way!” Blackhat chuckles leniently.

    “Oh please, it’s not like I couldn’t use some actual competition, but you will just be cloning a human.” There’s a bit of silence where Rick’s look travels to you and when you turn your head, you see that Blackhat is gesturing at you.

    “What?! Hey, wait a damn min-“

    “Sure, whatever.” Rick interrupts your interruption. “I’ll get you your stupid cloning machine. ‘S not like I – _urp_ \- have anything else to-  to do. Haugh… gimme a sec.” He sticks his hand back in his coat and pulls out a strange looking gun with a wide, flat barrel and a glass cylinder on top, containing a flickering, green orb of lightning. You prepare yourself for an attack, but he points it to the side and shoots a green, whirling disk the size of a man into the room. Before you know what the hell is going on, he steps through the spinning, well, portal, and is gone along with it. Now your jaw drops and you take a step towards the pentagram in shock.

    “What?! How the- don’t tell me he could do that the entire time?! Was that a real portal? Holy shit!” You turn to Blackhat, who doesn’t look concerned or even surprised at all that his prisoner had escaped. In fact, he’s chuckling again.

   “Do you believe me now that we need his expertise? This man has the most brilliant brain of all mortals. Unfortunately he also has the worst manners, too.” The last bit is spit out in a growl. You snort.

    “Yeah no kidding. What a dick! So, why didn’t you make _him_ your evil scientist then? I mean, Flug is… he’s… he has his _qualities_ , but with _that_ guy?” You let it hang in the air and Blackhat scrunches the skin over his mouth, maybe in regret but definitely in distaste.

    “Do not remind me. But Flug is bound to me by his contract, and will only be replaceable once he has fulfilled that contract, or dies. Moreover, Rick is aimless and reckless, driven only by his own boredom, alcohol and a lack of purpose. He would be too annoying to control, other than Flug, who I merely have to sneeze at to get him back in line.”

    “True. How come he knows about the different worlds, dimensions, realities or whatever they are?” you ask, intrigued. If this Rick had the means to travel to any of those dimensions, maybe there was a way to get him to help you get back to yours.

    “There are many parallel worlds and dimensions out there… sometimes multiple versions of the same world at once, and he discovered a way to visit them with his portal gun.” Blackhat replies and your mouth falls open once more.

       “Are you serious? So there could be a version of me who doesn’t get caught by Dementia in your study like an idiot?” But Blackhat already shakes his head.

    “ _I_ only choose to influence worlds that are unique and can’t be replaced. As brilliant as Rick might be, he suffers from one major flaw which _he_ hates probably the most himself: there are thousands of him, literally. I just had to wait until one of them was desperate enough to strike a bargain with me. Well, one of the more ruthless ones that is.”

You ponder about this for a second.

    “So, there are no other versions of me? Not even one?” The thought is both a relief and somewhat disheartening. Your boss eyes you with an unreadable expression.

    “No. You are… _quite_ unique.”

 

You wait for roughly ten minutes before the green portal opens up in the pentagram again, and now you realize that Blackhat had only manipulated the space within the circle to allow Rick access back into the mansion, as otherwise his powers would have prevented the scientist from teleporting inside and out, portal gun or not. He’s carrying a briefcase in one hand and puts it down on the ground, crossing his arms again.

    “There, here’s your stupid cloning device. That should get me off the hoo- _k_. Now if you’ll excuuuse me, I still have a Christmas to ruin.”

    “Oh, you, too, huh?” you blurt out and Rick furrows his brow at you, eyes narrowing.

    “Wait a minute… are you planning to use those clones to ruin Christmas in multiple dimensions at once?!” he exclaims and Blackhat bares his teeth at you for giving his evil plans away. You shrink away from the fangs and raise your hands, apologetic. Rick is suddenly all up in arms again. “Motherfucker! Don’t you dare mess with my dimension! In fact, do not even come close to my dimension you Lovecraftian fr- freakshow! I have too many projects I can’t abandon just to- to tango with the likes of you! Anatomy Park is up for inspection! Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Blackhat listens to the protest and slowly, slowly his grin returns as another idea visibly springs to his mind. _Uh-oh_ , you think, knowing already what he’s probably going to say next.

    “Well, I wasn’t initially planning on ruining your Christmas in particular, Rick. But now that you mention it, it does sound like a marvelous source of entertainment. Maybe I won’t even send a clone of my thief, but take care of this myself! Wouldn’t that be _fun_? Mwahahahar!” A horrible laugh bursts out his chest, green saliva dripping from his chin and now Rick looks cornered, the gears turning behind his unibrow.

    “You son of a bitch. Alright, I know how your stupid game works. How about…” he sighs heavily, “a deal? You don’t mess with my dimension and I owe you another favor.”

Blackhat walks up to the circle Rick is trapped in, shadow tendrils surging around his form as he reaches out a glowing hand. The pupil of his eye has split into three and more slobber spills from his lip. Rick tries not to let it show, but you can see the fear beneath the surface when your horrible boss traverses the border of the pentagram with one step and grabs his hand, shaking it once.

    “ _We have a deal_.” After another shake he lets go off Rick’s hand. The scientist glares at him, fists clenched by his sides.

    “I hate you.” He grinds out. You snort.

    “Get in line, old man.”

Blackhat’s grin gets a tad nasty and he rakes his eye over Rick’s form.

    “Such passion. You know, Rick, there are other ways to earn back your favor.” Rick and you both cry out at the same time:

    “Ew, oh my God, _boss_ , gross!”

    “Eugh, disgusting! I mean, I’m always down to bang some ugly aliens but even I have standards!”

Then you both look at each other and double over with laughter. Until Blackhat explodes in a whirling chaos of darkness, gore and red light, his fury bending the room against the laws of physic. You immediately stop laughing and cower down, trying to protect yourself from whatever he’s unleashing. Rick has fallen to his knees, looking like he’s about to throw up. Eventually the storm of horror dies down and the office returns to its normal proportions.

    “Sorry, boss.” You groan and get up on your feet. Blackhat skewers you with a glare and waits for Rick to get up as well before he summons his black cane and moves towards the door.

    “If you two are done fooling around, we have work to do.”

You nudge your head towards Rick and ready a knife in each hand just to be on the safe side. The scientist gives you a long stare, shrugs and picks up the briefcase to saunter out the door that’s held up by magic. He looks around the front of the office with a look of disinterest but you don’t let your guard down. Someone suicidal enough to consider pulling a gun on Blackhat could react in unpredictable ways. When you’re out in the hallway, Blackhat turns to walk down the corridor but then he flinches back, his single eye widening. You hear a shrill squeal of delight and then Dementia already comes sprinting down the hallway, right towards you, or your boss rather. His shocked expression turns into a snarl.

    “Get our _guest_ down to the lab!” And he teleports away, just as Dem lunges at him, lips puckered for a kiss, scraps of mistletoe stuck in her hair. You barely dodge her yourself and the lovesick Santa Claus punk slams face first into the closing door, knocking herself unconscious. Rick makes a grossed out noise and looks up to where the ceiling is one green ocean of mistletoe.

    “I’ve been to some weird dimensions. But this one takes the cake. Thiiiii- _urk_ -ink I’m gonna need therapy after this.” Then his gaze drops down to your mask and he raises one end of his brow. “You look almost too normal to belong here. So what’s your story with the hatted bag of dicks, then?”

You snicker and nod towards the elevator at the end of the hallway.

    “I’ll tell you on the way dow-" – “Save it. I don’t care. I was only trying to make meaningless small talk before I remembered that I don’t give a fu- _ur_ -uck about anything.” Rick burps out and walks down the corridor, swinging the briefcase, and you make sure to stay out of its radius while you follow him. Yet you can’t help chuckling again at his sass.

    “You seem to give a fuck or two about that grandson of yours.” You point out, noticing the way his shoulders briefly twitch, but apart from that Rick doesn’t show any other sign that he does actually care.

    “Yeah? Well if your boss thinks he’s got me by the balls he’s got another thing coming, trust me.”

    “What, don’t tell me you’re actually going to challenge him? I hope you like fiery pits then. Or the dimension of eternal suffering. Oh boy, ya don’t wanna end up there. _Trust_ me.” You add, sardonic. Rick throws you an irritated glance over his shoulder.

    “Don’t be an idiot, kid, I’m not going to fight him head on.” You bristle more at the _kid_ than the rest of his sentence.

    “I’m not a kid, what the hell?!” Another glance and a snort.

    “You sure? All that bitching reminds me of my underage granddaughter.” Now you sprint up to him.

    “Hey fuck you, I’m old enough to-"

    “Sleep with your eldritch abomination of a boss? Don’t think I didn’t catch that little exchange you had back there. Yep, r- _urp_ -real achievement there, kid.”

You stop dead in your tracks, your head feeling like it’s on fire. Rick is already at the elevator and you run the last steps up to it, trying to come up with a glib response. However, at his deadpanned look, you can only stutter.

    “I didn’t- it’s not like-“ The unibrow is lifted again.

    “You really should stop talking now or I _guarantee_  you I’m going to throw up. There’s only so much mental scarring one can take in one day without a drink. Now if you’d be so kind as to push any of those buttons, that would be spl- _ergh_ -splendid, err… what the hell was your name again? Wait, I still don’t care. I’m just gonna keep calling you kid since it seems to piss you off enough for me to draw some amusement out of it.”

You punch the button to the lab and are now really, really, _really_ glad your face is hidden behind the mask. The elevator falls silent. Your thumb runs over the blade you still keep hidden under your sleeve, the warm steel soothing for your furious mind. That bastard really was as bad as Blackhat, if not worse because he was an actual human being and not some personified force of evil.

“You can put those away.” Rick scoffs. “They won’t be effective in any way you think they may be, and I’m not actually desperate enough to try anything in this godawful mansion. Not too keen on having my insides introduced to the outside by your boss again.” Your thumb freezes on the knife. _How in the hell?!_

“How did I know about your knives? Easy when you have multiple scanners on you to constantly analyze possible threats, not that you are one, but if you want to be successful in anything, you gotta stay on your toes. By the way, I’m working on something to keep that asshole out of my dimension, something that’s going to block his powers. _That’s_ how I intend to fuck him over. You could get in on that if you helped me out of this new deal I had to make because _someone_ -"

    “Hey, don’t blame that on me, if you hadn’t lost it Blackhat wouldn’t even have thought about messing with your world!” you interject, bristling. Like hell are you going to take any more shit from this asshole. Rick just shrugs.

    “Whatever. Do you want my help or not? Think about it, could be useful in your, uh, current situation of harassment in the workplace environment. Get that fucker off your back, so to speak. Oh God, now I’m imagining it, augh, so gross-"

You take a breath to say something but the elevator stops with a _ding_ , door opening to the underground lab area. Rick walks out into the metal corridor, looking around while you shuffle along.

   “I don’t think it would do me any good.” You say quietly, causing him to stop in his tracks. “You might be ruthless enough to try defying him but I’m…” somehow you can’t finish the sentence, and fortunately you don’t have to since Blackhat materializes right then and there, giving you a stink-eye. “Ah, should I have warned you about the mistletoe, boss? Mistletoes…”

    “Nevermind _that_.” He hisses. “I already brought Flug down here to assist with the machine.” Rick clucks his tongue.

    “No assistance needed, I built it so that a blind,  brain-amputated monkey would be able to operate it. Uh, hope you don’t have any evil monkeys running around here. Cou- _urrr_ -ld be awkward if they got to the machine.”

    “Or profitable.” Blackhat returns with a smirk, always the businessman. Rick makes a noncommittal noise and walks further down the hallway until the door to the main lab slides open. When the old, grumpy scientist enters you hear an immediate groan from Flug that sounds like all the joy from Christmas just vacated his body.

    “Oh no, not this guy again! Oh- Lord Blackhat, sir, I- I didn’t-"

    “What?” Rick interrupts Flug’s stuttering. “Y- you think I came here on my own?! Maybe your boss really needs my help more than he knows- augh, ow, why always with the-" the rest of his jeering gets choked off by Blackhat, well, choking Rick again. You sigh and give Flug a helpless shake of your head and a shrug. Yet the evil junior scientist looks awfully satisfied under his paper bag, his eyes narrowed behind the dark goggles. Blackhat explains the situation to his science expert while he keeps Rick in his grip:

    “My good friend Rick brought me a new machine, a cloning device, to be precise Doctor. I need you to operate it and clone our little thief over here.”

Despite his obvious aversion towards Rick, Flug looks already interested and picks up the briefcase the other scientist has dropped.

    “A cloning device? That might come in handy.” Blackhat’s grin gets wider at Flug’s words and he drops Rick nonchalantly to wave his hand toward you.

    “Indeed, Flug, and sooner than you think; you will clone me an army of thieves to ruin Christmas in every dimension of my villain network! Mwahahahar!” He doesn’t catch how Flug flinches in fright, casting you a quick glance.

    “E- every dimension, sir? Even this one?” he asks cautiously. Blackhat immediately stops laughing and snarls.

    “ _Especially_ this dimension you idiot! Consider it my wish for Christmas: Misery and despair from Hat-island to the world of Ooo! I want you to use that twisted little brain of yours to make it a _memorable_ disaster, Flug! Deploy every disgusting invention in your arsenal, or make something new, I don’t care! Just make it the most horrible Christmas ever! And send Rick here back to his dimension once the machine operates flawlessly. Now get to work, I want my army ready by tomorrow evening!” With that the Crawling Chaos disappears, leaving you with Rick and Flug.

The two scientists take a moment to size each other up with visible distaste before they get to work, both muttering under their breath. Since Blackhat hadn’t told you that you were free to go, you hop on one of the emptier desks and keep an eye on them, playing with a knife to at least lose a bit of your tensed energy. They seem to be getting along, for now, safe for the occasional curse from Rick and the barely suppressed noises of annoyance from Flug. You snicker to yourself. Up to now the only hazard in this lab had been Dementia.

After a while you flick your hood back, the cool air of the laboratory feeling nice on your face. Almost instantly there’s a strangled noise from Flug and your eyes dart over to him but then you just shrug.

    “What? The boss isn’t here.” You point out and roll your eyes at Flug’s raised finger.

    “______, put your mask back on!” he snaps. Rick, alerted by Flug’s chiding, throws a bored look over his shoulder and scoffs.

    “Yeah, ______, better put that mask back on before I _uuurr_ ctually start giving a fuck and re- report you to the interdimensional cops for planning to ruin Christmas.” You give him a wide, sardonic smile and raise your middle finger.

    “Bite me, Rick.” He shakes himself with disgust.

    “Ugh, no thanks, not when I know where else that’s _been_. Hey Dr. Finkelstein, hand me that wrench. No not that one, the _other_ one, obviously! Jeez, it’s like working with an entire disappointment of Jerrys!” He looks around expectantly, hands raised like he’s waiting for you to get his joke. “G- get it? Because… lions are called a pride? Murder of crows?” When Flug and you just stare at him with equally done expressions his face drops into a scowl again. “Worst. episode. ever. I wish Morty was here so I’d at least have someone intelligent to talk to!”

Flug shoots up from where he’s kneeling in front of the cloning device, rubber-gloved hands balled into tight fists. He’s _shaking_ from anger!

    “I don’t have to take this from you!” he hisses and already storms towards the exit. You cluck your tongue and wave your knife at him from where you’re lounging on the desk with one foot propped up on the work surface, the other placed on a chair, swiveling it around.

    “Come on, Flug, don’t let him get to you.” You try to appease him and Flug gives you a devastating glare from behind his goggles, so you raise your hands up and point both fingers up to the ceiling. “We both know the boss is gonna whip you back down here immediately; do you really wanna risk that because of this asshole?” Now the mad scientist huffs and runs a hand over his face under the paper bag.

    “I just need some coffee. Watch him!” A finger is pointed at you. “And don’t touch _anything_!”

    “You got it, chief!” you call out over your shoulder at his receding footsteps. Once the door has closed you slide from the table and amble over to Rick, who’s already connecting the machine to the mansion’s energy grid. It looks huge, a tall metal arch over an elliptical platform, with lots of lights, switches and thingamabobs you don’t even want to mess with, no matter what Flug said.

    “Those clones…” you start, watching him for his every reaction. “Are they… you know, sentient? Like me? Or are they gonna be more like drones or robots?” For a moment you think he’s only going to bitch at you again, but then Rick straightens himself and knocks against the device with the wrench he’s holding.

    “These clones are going to be perfect instances of you, with all your memories, an exact copy in every way. They will talk shit, steal and even fuck your boss for you if you want them to. The thing is, I don’t think even he would notice it’s a clone. So you could get some time off, be gone a day or a week or even the rest of your life and that bastard would be none the wiser.” It sounds to you like there’s a proposition somewhere in his words, but you shake your head.

    “Nah, he’d know.” You say solemnly and a little sad. “If there was even the slightest chance I’d be able to take advantage of that machine he wouldn’t have made you build it in the first place.” Rick makes a thoughtful noise.

    “Oh yeah? What makes you so sure about that? My clones are perfect!” he returns, irritated.

    “Do they have a SOUL?” you ask instead and see his eyes widening a fraction from your peripheral view. Out loud Rick just mutters: “Motherfucker.” You nod at that. But then you think further about it. If those clones were all identical to you minus a SOUL, maybe you could…

    “Say, what would you need to finish this thing that’s going to keep Blackhat out of your dimension? I can get you anything.” You say under your breath, still not looking at him. Fortunately Rick has already caught on to your secrecy and gets back to working on the machine, his face hidden from the security cameras in the lab.

    “ _Something_ from him, that’s for sure. It didn’t work the way it is now, only honed in on his energy, that’s why I ended up here again. I don’t do magic, but maybe DNA would work. If that monster even has something like DNA. Think you could get me some of that? Oh God, still gross.” Your thoughts are running. Blackhat had a physical body, and you had already seen and experienced more of that than you liked to admit. But straight up DNA? You doubt he’d actually leave some behind on accident. Then something hits you.

    “I think I got something… but you need to distract Flug for me when he comes back. Deal?”

Rick looks at you and you return his gaze now.

    “Deal.”

 

-

 

When Flug returns with a steaming mug of coffee Rick doesn’t hesitate to immediately cause a scene: “Oh, y- you didn’t think that maybe I would have liked some coffee, too? I get that your villains but that doesn’t mean you also have to have bad hospitality!” You try to hide your smirk. It was a simple but effective distraction. Before Flug can already call one of the hatbotlers to get Rick some Joe, you step up to him and pat his shoulder.

    “It’s okay, doc, I’ll get our guest some coffee. Rick, you want sugar, milk, cream?” he takes a breath but then you laugh out and wave your other hand around. “Oh wait! I don’t care either! Now I get it, this _is_ fun.” Flug joins in with your nasty cackling and you pat his shoulder again. “You gonna be okay without me?” You ask and he scoffs, pulling out the remote for the hatbotlers to wave it into your face, making the keys in his lab coat rattle. You snort. “Right, why do I even ask. I’ll be back in a sec.” Flug turns a little away from you and your hand slips from his shoulder and into the pocket of his coat, snatching the small ring of keys out of it just before he puts the remote back in.

You saunter out of the lab and wait until it closes behind you, then you sprint down the hallway to the bigger one of the medical examination rooms, where Flug once scanned you for possible egg-impregnation and where he also gave you something against eventual side effects caused by Blackhat. Which sounds exactly like the thing Rick needs to complete his anti-BH-device. And with the keys you just took from Flug, you don’t risk getting caught for stealing some later. Your lock picks would have most likely left traces on the lock, and you doubt they even would have been able to deal with the second lock. Now you simply turn the first and second key and take out the dark flask with multiple strange warning labels, along with an empty syringe. It takes you a bit of fumbling but eventually you’ve managed to take a sample of the antitoxin and put the flask back into the first aid kit. The syringe is quickly hidden in your sleeve and a few minutes later you’re on your way to the kitchen to get Rick, and yourself as well, a cup of coffee.

When you step into the kitchen, you find a sulky Dementia slumped over the counter. Earl sits next to her on the countertop, pressing a bag of frozen peas to her head. He’s wearing a self-made ugly Christmas sweater that reads something unintelligible he’d actually say. Earl had also pulled a Santa Claus hat over his wobbly top hat and looks even more ridiculous than usually. The white beard made from torn cotton balls is only the tip of the iceberg. You step around the counter on your way to the coffee machine and rub Dementia’s shoulder.

    “Don’t worry, Dee, I’m sure you get him next time.” She sighs at that and nibbles on some of 5.0.5's cookies. Earl launches into a garbled speech, spewing tufts of cotton from his lips, but you barely hear it, you’re too focused on writing a note while the coffee brews and getting back in time without Flug finding out you took his keys.

Armed with two cups and a few cookies you return to the lab, already expecting the worst, but when the door slides open you find an excited Flug, talking animatedly to a… second Flug. Rick watches them from the side, rolling his eyes with a dramatic sigh. Doing so he spots you in the door and shoots you a quick but telling glimpse. You nod ever so slightly. The two Flugs barely notice you as you walk up to them, handing Rick the coffee and casting a glance to  each of the mad scientists, mouthing silently: _Who’s the real one?_ Rick nudges his head to the right and you exhale in quiet relief, turning to the real Flug with the cookies. He takes them with a happy noise and immediately offers some to his clone before they launch into another boring discussion about planes. They’re so engaged that you don’t even have to be awfully cautious when you slip Flug’s keys back into his coat’s pocket.

Then you return to Rick and slide the syringe out of your sleeve, playing it into his hand. He gives it a long look, does something on the watch around his wrist and widens his eyes slightly before he pockets the syringe and gives you a quick nod. You did good. With your heart pounding you nudge his hand again, sliding the piece of paper and a small syringe with your own blood you took into his fingers. He flinches in surprise and turns a little towards you now. You return his look with a serious expression. You had helped him out, now it was his turn to repay that favor and you simply had to trust that he was going to come through with it as you had no way of checking if he would return the favor. Rick glances down on the syringe wrapped in your note, and surprisingly enough he seems to understand what this is about without even having read the piece of paper yet.

    “You got yourself a deal, kid.” He mumbles so lowly even you have trouble to understand it, before you relax and look back over to the two plane enthusiasts who’re having an absolute blast exchanging plane-puns back and forth. And you can’t help but be absolutely amazed by the cloning device. There is no difference between the two Flugs whatsoever, it’s like watching a creepy mirror come to life, and all of that from just a drop of blood! Rick takes a sip of his coffee and huffs.

    “So, are you convinced that my machine works flawlessly? Because I’d reaaaally love to ditch this hell-hole if you don’t mind. Also this coffee sucks. Big time.” Both Flugs jerk from their conversation and exchange a telling look among themselves. The cloned Flug nods at the real one, who walks over to his desk with the phone on it while his doppelganger turns to Rick, raising a finger. You know already what’s going to happen next, and swiftly put your hood back up, hiding your face behind the mask.

    “Not so fast now, Rick. First we need to inform Lord Blackhat that the machine is ready to be used as he intended.” Before the phone has rung twice, the air in the lab gets even colder and denser, followed by a shockwave that announces the very Lord Blackhat himself who materializes out of thin air. You see the way Rick squints his eyes at the apparition, but you doubt that he’s going to be able to get any intel from that instant teleportation. The real Flug joins his clone.

    “We’re happy to report that the cloning device functions flawlessly, boss.” They both squawk in unison and you snort out a laugh. This is just one Flug too many! Blackhat’s single eye travels from one scientist to the other, before a wide grin splits his face.

    “Excellent!” he rasps out with a low, ugly chuckle. Trying to prove a point to Rick, you whistle, apparently impressed.

    “Aw crap, I lost track, I can’t even tell anymore who the real Flug is.” You comment, hoping your lie isn’t picked up by Blackhat. But the boss seems to be way too pleased with the machine’s success, since he simply raises a hand, snapping his fingers.

    “Oh, don’t you worry my little thief, I can tell them apart _quite_ clearly.” The real Flug winces and clutches his chest in pain while the clone remains unaffected and just recoils from his tormented twin. Rick growls out a suppressed curse, a wordless admission that yes, you were right. Blackhat releases Flug with a hummed chuckle. You make a thoughtful noise and look from one engineer to the other, shrugging.

    “And… what are we going to do with them once the job is done? Just… y’know, _kill_ them?” Your eldritch boss turns to you with an ecstatic expression.

    “A marvelous idea! Let’s have them fight to the death and the winner has to go up against the real one! Mwahahaha this device has already saved my Christmas for sure!” It is absolutely frightening to see Blackhat this psyched up. Next thing you know he’d clone himself to lay the entire universe to waste and have himself a grand old time. But Rick just clucks his tongue and pulls out a remote from his own lab coat.

    “Ugh, that’s barbaric. I invented a much more elegant solution: The moment you decide the clone’s job is done you flip a switch on this and it seizes to exist. It feels no pain or regret, nothing and it has zero chance of going Blade Runner on you.”

You throw him a raised eyebrow.

    “What’s Blade Runner?” you ask, confused. Rick’s expression slips for a second and he slaps a hand over his face with a long, tired sigh.

    “Can I please get out of this dimension now? I did my part, now you better hold up your end of the bargain or-“ Blackhat laughs raucously, throwing his head back.

    “Or _what_ , Rick?” he returns once he’s caught himself again. “No, please answer this, I am utterly intrigued to know what you are going to do if I don’t hold up my end of the deal!” When Rick doesn’t come up with anything and just skewers Blackhat with a glare so murderous that you shoot a quick, checking glimpse towards your boss, the Crawling Chaos waves his hand dismissively. “I thought as much. So you actually do know your place. Flug, destroy your clone and send Rick back to his dimension.”

    “I’d prefer to use my _own_ interdimensional travel-system?” Rick snaps, offended. “I don’t want to risk getting disintegrated on a sub-atomic level by your crude craftsmanship!” Blackhat scowls at him, then at you.

    “Take him back to the office, then. I shall oversee the construction of my army myself. Take the rest of the night off, you will need all the rest you can get for tomorrow.” He says, shooing you out with a hand as he already turns away and approaches the cloning device. You can’t help but jeer at his graciousness.

    “Oh wow, _thanks_ , boss! Golly, there sure are some Christmas miracles left in this world!” Rick chuckles at that but shuts up immediately when Blackhat’s head swivels around to you in a 180° turn, his visible eye streaked with black veins and the monocle glowing an ominous red. You turn on your heel and pull Rick along by the sleeve of his coat. “Bye Flug’s clone, it was nice knowing ya!”

You both stay silent all the way to the elevator. Once you’re inside Rick pulls out yet another weird gun and points it at the floor. You raise a brow but trust that he won’t do anything stupid now of all times. And indeed, Rick clicks the gadget and the elevator stops moving. He turns to you and takes both syringes and your note out of his pocket.

    “Alright, I stopped time inside this elevator, so we should be undistu- _uuu_ rbed for a while.” You snort at the time-pun and educe a crooked grin out of the old scientist that lasts only the split of a second. “L-let’s talk business, ______. You obviously want me to create a clone of you in my dimension, and since you helped me out with this,” he shakes the syringe with Blackhat’s antitoxins between his fingers, “I am going to do you that favor. I get that these are instructions meant for that clone but I want you to fill me in on the scheme yourself, first.” You throw him a doubtful glare.

    “I thought you didn’t, oh how did you put it again? Give a fuck? So why now?” He clucks his tongue.

    “Well, _duh_ , of course because I want to know what evil scheme you’re actually hatching under that stupid mask and if I am fine with letting that happen in my dimension or not! And second because maybe it’s Christmas and I am willing to do some charity work for once, and you’re the second most miserable creature I’ve seen today. The first being Jerry. So, we have a deal or not? Full disclosure.” You sigh heavily and lean against the wall of the elevator, crossing your arms.

    “It’s supposed to deliver something in my own dimension, and convince the clone sent there by Blackhat to not actually ruin Christmas. Well, for a handful of people that is.” You admit, hoping that talking out loud about it won’t enable Blackhat to see that in your memories while you sleep. You could just not sleep, or knock yourself out with some more alcohol from his storage to prevent that from happening. Rick nods at that.

    “Lemme guess: family?” You shake your head but then shrug.

    “Sort of… my old gang. They suffer under their boss enough already, so they shouldn’t also have to feel miserable on the only day of the year they get off. It’s stupid, I know, and not only because some of ‘em probably played a part in ratting me out to Sans and didn’t come to help me, but I know they’re just scared of him. So, yeah, that special clone is supposed to save Christmas, I guess.” Your heart is pounding by the time you’re finished, filled with terror of what would happen if Blackhat found out about this. The gifts for 5.0.5, Dementia and Flug aren’t even a fraction as bad as this would be if it got out. Rick grunts at your words.

    “It sure is stupid… but it’s also brave and reckless. Plus, if it fucks this asshole over, I’m game. You got yourself a deal, kiddo.” You suddenly can’t help but snort out loud and shake your head.

    “Really? Kiddo? If you start calling me baby I’m afraid imma have to punch you, oldtimer.”

    “Yeah, no, I’m just gonna leave that to your boss.” There’s a second of pause before you both groan out: “Ugh, gross!”

 

-

 

You’re lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, apprehensive of falling asleep. The last conversation you had with Rick before he returned to his own dimension is still echoing in your head.

    _“So, how will I know if you held up your end of our deal?”_

_“Simple. Once the clones seize to exist you will gain all its memories. So you will know if the clone I made for you did its job.”_

_“Wait, what?! How the hell does that even work?”_

_“Quantum mechanics waaaaay too complicated for you to-_ uuur _even begin to understand, kid. Just… I don’t know how many clones your boss is going to create but it sounded like a lot. Be prepared for the worst mindfuck of your life. Literally. It’s not gonna be very pleasant to have hundreds of different impressions flooding your brain at once. Oh, and that’s something your boss hopefully won’t figure out since I didn’t tell Dr. Fitzgerald about it.”_

_“His name is Flugslys, actually. And I'm sure he already knows.”_

_“Whatever. Peace out. Here's to hoping I will never see you again, ______.”_

_“Have fun ruining Christmas you old fart.”_

And then he had portal-gunned out of the office, leaving you with only more anxiety and an actual old fart, a real stinker. You just hoped your plan would work and the clone would be able to complete the task you had written on that piece of paper. It was a huge risk for your ultimate goal to kill Sans while having an element of surprise. If Frisk was really entirely loyal to the mobster they would alarm him immediately once the clone delivered the package. But you just couldn’t help it! You wanted- no, you needed to do this or this awful sting would never go away for the rest of the year. Now you felt like you had done everything in your power to quiet your bad conscience and could finally focus on something else than missing them.

You forcefully turn over on your side and slide your right hand under the pillow to hold on to the Bowie knife underneath it, its warm leather handle feeling like a calming anchor. In the darkness you can make out the dark frame of the boxes containing Dementia’s and Flug’s presents. Since Blackhat had given you the rest of the night off, you had used that time you were unsupervised to sneak back out and get the rest of your weird household presents. At least something you don’t have to worry about anymore. Your eyes fall shut and after a few deep breaths you slowly drift away, your dreams filled with scenes from Christmases past, Christmas with Frisk.

 

-

 

The next day you’re awoken by a hand shaking your shoulder. You grumble and roll over onto the other side. An irritated sigh and the hand shakes you again, harder.

     “Come on, me, get the hell up!” At the strangely familiar voice you immediately open your eyes and shoot up, freeing the knife from beneath the pillow. When you see your own reflection holding up its hands you yell in start and recoil from the clone, who throws you a crooked smirk and snickers. “Boo!” it adds unnecessarily and you groan, rubbing your face.

    “This is so fucking weird!” you moan out, eyeing yourself with a certain amount of suspicion. To suddenly be confronted with another you makes you question your own morals. Especially when your clone looks absolutely like the cat who caught the canary right now. “Lemme guess… the boss sent you up to wake me?” The clone clucks its tongue.

    “Nah, it was Flug. You need to come down to the lab to get your instructions for tonight.” You rub your eyes once more, yawning.

   “Can I first take a shower and have some breakfast?” The clone pouts at you, which looks so weird because you know exactly how you’d do that face and yet it is already mind-boggling to see someone… else do it, even if that someone is technically yourself. “Oh God, this is weeeird!”

    “Tell me about it… can I get some coffee, too, if I let you shower?” It adds, obviously sensing a trade-off. You nod immediately.

    “Yeah, sure!” You get up but then turn around, curious. “So… how many clones did Flug create?” The cloned you shudders.

    “Dude, like you said it’s… it’s _weird_! If you think seeing one more of us is strange, you’re in for a real mindfuck. I can’t wait to finally be alone, even if I have to work and ruin Christmas in an entire dimension. Ugh.” You nod at that and decide to finally ready and over this day.

After a quick shower and an even quicker breakfast the clone takes you down into the lab, but deeper yet into the underground labyrinth and past a door you haven’t been through before. What you see behind it is already enough to make you sway dangerously where you’re standing. The room is vast and reminds you of the auditorium you had seen in the library of South City. Flug probably used this room for educating aspiring villains. But now the ranks are filled with… yous. Some of them turn around at the door opening and a few of those even wave at you but the rest is either looking like they’re about to start a riot out of boredom or talking way too loudly to the other clones. There’s even one pair to the side who are playing the fucking knife-game! Flug is standing down at the bottom of the stairs, in front of a giant black-board, busy with setting up a presentation on a screen and projector. When he looks up and spots the two of you, he waves you down towards him. The clone that woke you pats your shoulder and slinks away to settle down in one of the last free seats. Your knees feel alarmingly like Christmas pudding at this point and when you’re close enough, Flug gives you a concerned look-over.

     “Are you going to be okay? I know, it’s unusual to be confronted with a clone, but don’t let that overwhelm you.”

    “U- _unusual_?! This is fucking madness!” you hiss with a quick glimpse towards the rows and rows of ______s, all doing something else instead of paying attention which you could have easily pictured yourself doing, being stuck in a boring class room with nothing to do. The energy is loaded and bordering on antsy; none of you is okay with this, and you honestly don’t know how Flug is planning to control all of these feisty clones without causing them to form a union and openly rebel against him.

The answer is so obvious you almost smack your forehead: Blackhat materializes right next to you with a horrible flickering of the lights and dark energy compressing into his lean, tall frame, and the entire auditorium falls silent in an instance. He lets his single eye crawl along each bench, his horrible grin widening with every clone that shrinks away from the piercing glare.

    “My, my, what a lovely spread.” he rasps finally. You see the way your clones shudder, immediately knowing how they feel. For once you’re grateful that his gruesome attention is on you. Well, the _other_ yous, the ones that are not _you_ you. _Shit, I think I’m getting a migraine._ “To say this is exhilarating would be a grave understatement on my part. What a _delicious_ conglomeration of chaotic energy. My little thieves, I’m sure you all know why I brought you here: to ruin Christmas in every dimension under my influence. Your _original_ is going to remain here, but each of _you_ will be deployed in one of these worlds to wreck havoc and do my bidding. Or else!” The last two words are growled out in his demonic snarl, causing some of the clones to groan, visibly close to fainting. The lucky ones in the back mumble in acknowledgement.

Blackhat gestures to Flug. “Now, Dr. Flug will brief each of you on the specific plan for your dimension and I expect you to listen well to him. I will not tolerate any blunders or failures. Your reward for this will be the sweet release from existence. Disappoint me… and you will _more than **regret it!**_ ” Now one of the clones in the front actually does faint and your hand darts forward like you could have actually caught it. The two next to the blacked out clone quickly bend down to pull it back up. Blackhat stares the waking clone of you down. Before it can defend itself he vaporizes it with a laser-beam from his monocle, causing the clones around it to jump up and away from their chairs with yelled curses.

“Weakness won’t be tolerated either. It shall be replaced by a better clone later. Now,” he claps into his hands, “pay close attention to Dr. Flug, we don’t have all day!” Then he grabs your arm in a tight clutch. “ _You_ are coming with me. Your job will be a lot more… special.” And before you have time to prepare in any way, he pulls you through the whirling darkness and into his office. You stumble a few steps and turn around to him.

    “I still don’t understand how a single one of _me_ is supposed to ruin Christmas in one night in an entire dimension, boss.” You croak out, shaking your head. Blackhat  waves his hand around.

    “Let Flug worry about logistics, we’re only talking about the most important hubs of those dimensions here anyway. And while your mission is going to be a special one, it’s also probably the easiest in terms of manual labor.”

    “Oh God, here it comes…” you mutter under your breath. Of course he hears it but merely grins maniacally at you and snaps his fingers. One of the relics on the office wall starts to glow and floats down, into your hands. You eye the strange thing with utmost suspicion. It’s a black piece of smooth rock, like obsidian, shining red in the light from the window. It’s the rough size of a head yet flattened and polished. A single symbol is carved into the surface and painted over in a fluorescent green. The longer you look at the strange symbol the more your head starts to pound until you have to look up from it, right into Blackhat’s green glowing grin. “What is that? It basically screams black magic. That or unnamable horror.” The grin widens a fraction into the impossible, showing dark gums.

    “Correct.” Blackhat says. “You will take this stone to the edge of the island, through the thickest of woods until you’ve reached the shore, and toss it into the waves with an incantation.” You raise a brow at him with a crooked grin.

    “Incantation? Me? Oh come on, you know I always forget what I’m _supposed_ to say.” The huge teeth part slightly in a wolfish chuckle and the single eye narrows at your sass.

    “We will just have to work on that, hm? But don’t worry, I shall make sure that the words are forevermore _branded_ into your mind.” Blackhat steps closer, the light from behind you giving his features a hellish gleam and you swallow against the stone in your throat when he grabs your shoulders, his eyeball rolling back into his head. When he speaks again you all but faint yourself now:

    _“_ _Iä! Iä! Cthulhu fhtagn! **Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah-nagl fhtagn!**_ _Hup nafl'fhtagn ymg' fhtagn ng ah'mgehye! Ymg' mgah'ehye lloigazath na'ah'ehye! Y' l' uln ymg', Cthulhu!_

 **_Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah-nagl fhtagn!_ ** _Iä! Iä! T_ _hrodog cthulhu nafl'fhtagn!”*_

Your knees buckle beneath you but he holds you in place, the monocle glowing with a green, swirling light now that keeps your gaze trapped, keeping you from looking away. Blackhat repeats the incantation once more and you think your brain must be melting at this point. This is wrong, nobody should even think about uttering these vile words, let alone ever say them out loud, no, you couldn’t do this, you couldn’t-

A gloved hand releases your shoulder and places itself over your eyes, blocking out the world with safe, delicious darkness. Your own hands shoot up to clutch at Blackhat’s wrist, desperate to stay in the darkness. As promised, the words are forever etched into your mind, and like so much else they will probably haunt you until the day you finally die. You choke out a frantic sob, shaking all over. He husks out a low laugh.

    “There, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” You just make another strangled noise in the back of your throat. “When you are at the cliff where the waves are the most vicious, gaze into the symbol within the stone and chant the mantra until it starts to glow. Visualize that the seal becomes a gate, and throw the stone into the waves on the last syllable. Then wait. Wait for the Great Old One to come forth from the deep and point him in the right direction.” Before your inner eye you begin to see an image. A ragged shoreline that drops over a hundred feet into the churning ocean, two stone pillars jutting out like needles in the distant waves. Blackhat’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, and instead you hear the wind howling, the waves crashing against the steep rock face. “Meeting my great-grandnephew Cthulhu face to face might be terrifying enough to shatter a mortal’s mind, but you will be protected by my mark. He won’t be able to lay a slimy finger on you, my dear. Now go, you’re losing daylight fast, and the coast is far.”

Just like that he pulls his hand away from your face but you keep your eyes clenched shut, unable to open them and face this horrible reality.

    “Do I… have to?” you whisper, followed by a deafening silence. When you peek through one lid Blackhat looks like he’s considering to simply roast you over the fire like he said yesterday. You raise your hands with the stone still clutched between them. “Okay, okay, I’ll do it. Summon your great-grandnephew, got it. Going now. No need to repeat yourself. Bye!” And you leave the office in a half-sprint, the stone feeling unnaturally warm in your fingers.

 

-

 

With your laptop-bag containing the summoning stone strapped across your shoulder you sneak into the kitchen to stock up on soul-food and supplies for your track through the jungle of Hat-island. You were already fully geared out, knives _en masse_ , along with enough rope for your gaff and layers upon layers of clothes to survive the freezing temperatures. You had seen the dense woods surrounding the outskirts of Hatsville before, but only from afar and your instincts had told you quite clearly that you did not, under any circumstances, wanted to go there. Now you had to. And while Blackhat had been honest about his horrible eldritch relative not being able to harm you, he hadn’t said shit about anything living inside that jungle. If there were more creatures like Little Jack roaming the island unsupervised, you could only hope they would also leave you the fuck alone because of Blackhat’s branding on your back. Now you were actually starting to envy your clones.

You flinch when the door opens and whirl around, but it’s only Dementia. Yet _she_ immediately stops dead in her tracks and throws a look back over her shoulder, her brows furrowing in confusion. Today she must’ve done something else to the mansion, since she’s covered from head to toe in glitter.

    “What? But didn’t I just see you…” she mutters, more to herself, before she looks back to you. You raise your hands and try not to chuckle.

    “Are you sure you’re okay, Dem? You hit your head pretty hard yesterday. Welp, I got to go, mission and stuff. I’ll try to be back by Christmas eve, but something tells me I’m on the naughty-list this year anyway.” Now Dementia snickers.

    “Is there another list?” You blink at her but then shake your head.

    “Good point. See ya, Dee.” Before you can leave through the window she grabs your shoulder and stops you.

    “Hey, uh, can you do me a favor? I totally forgot to get Flug a present this year, well, other than noogies. Can you get it for me? I can’t leave the house or I’ll miss my chance to get Christmas kisses from Blackhat!” She wraps her arms around herself with a dreamy sigh. Your surprised expression drops into a deadpanned look. _Of course,_ you think. Now you not only had to survive a trip through the deadliest jungle ever grown on this earth and summon a Great Old One, noooo, you also had to play the Santa Claus for Dementia! The Christmas stress had really settled in now. And to top it all of, you were going to get your fragile human brain absolutely obliterated by receiving hundreds of memories from your clones! You just hope you would be able to filter out the one memory from the clone Rick would send to your dimension. Remembering you still haven’t answered Dementia, you quickly pull yourself out of your head and nod.

    “Haah, fine, but you owe me big time for that, Dee. It’s not like I’m already… spread thin as it is.” You can’t help but snicker at that private pun. With a wave you jump out the window and start walking west automatically. You have no idea how you know where the hell to go, but assume it has something to do with that vision Blackhat showed you. The sun was already at its low zenith on the 24th of December. You really had to hoof it if you didn’t want to end up as a Christmas roast.

 

-

 

Hours later you finally emerge out of the dense undergrowth, short of breath and frightened to the core. You have no clue how the hell you managed to survive that trip across the island and through the murderous woods, but you had done it and above all, you managed to get Dementia a present for Flug before heading into the woods. Your face is scratched bloody by thorns and thin branches, your feet frozen into icy lumps. You really had to ask Flug to make you some gear that was more fit for these temperatures than your thin tabis and your beloved leather-jacket. You wipe your sweat-drenched brow and try to catch your haunted breath. The salty air blowing from the cliff side stirs old memories inside you, but you’re way too rattled as that you’d be able to acknowledge them. The laptop-bag around your shoulder has gotten heavier with each mile you got closer to the coast and you heave it over your head with a strained groan to let it fall to the ground. There’s an unnatural heat coming off of it, so you quickly open the zipper to pull out the stone that burns your fingers even through the gloves. Cursing, you drop it onto the frozen ground that sizzles when the obsidian comes into contact with it, steam rising up around your feet. In the darkness you can see the glow coming from the strange rune in the middle of the stone and while you can’t make out the stone needles in the distance of the rolling ocean, you know you’re where you’re supposed to be.

With a protective layer of  leather around each hand you pick the stone back up and gasp at its weight, struggling to carry it all the way to the edge of the cliff. The ice-cold wind pulls on you like it was an evil spirit come to life, trying to fling you off the ledge. You brace yourself against the force but then you sink down on your knees, which is a lot easier than trying to stand upright. Your body is shaking in the bitter cold and now you’re actually grateful for the heat radiating off the stone that you reflexively cradle closer to your middle as you hunch over it and stare intently at the symbol, your hackles rising beneath your hood. You lick over your cold and crusted lips, fighting to gather any willpower to utter the accursed words Blackhat had burned into your mind. But the promised punishment hanging over your head like the literal sword of Damocles is stronger than your instinctive reluctance. 

    _Gaze into the symbol within the stone and chant the mantra until it starts to glow_ , he had told you. Well it was already pretty glow-y. _Visualize that the seal becomes a gate._

    “Then throw it into the waves on the last syllable…” you finish his instructions out loud, taking in a shuddering breath. Again your mind starts to fray and unravel at the seams as soon as you keep your eyes longer on the symbol than a few seconds, but there’s no going back now. Not empty-handed at least. Before you know it, your lips begin to move on their own:

    “ _Iä! Iä! Cthulhu fhtagn!_ “ The glow of the symbol becomes a glaring shine in the night, like a toxic green burning ember. _“Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah-nagl fhtagn!_ _Hup nafl'fhtagn ymg' fhtagn ng ah'mgehye! Ymg' mgah'ehye lloigazath na'ah'ehye! Y' l' uln ymg', Cthulhu! Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah-nagl fhtagn! **Iä! Iä! T** **hrodog cthulhu nafl'fhtagn!** ” _The last syllable is a scream that borders on hysteria and you throw the burning stone as far away from you as you can, almost losing your balance on the steep cliff.

There’s a moment of complete silence where not even the wind or the waves make a sound, only disturbed by the distinct _sploosh_ of the stone hitting the surface of the water, and then all hell breaks loose around you. The wind throws you on your back, your head hitting the rock-hard ground with a painful flash. The waves crash against the cliff as though the ocean was trying to tear the entire island down and pull it into its depth but you only hear that new sound; the drums. Hollow and so deep they vibrate inside your chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe. You claw into the frozen earth to pull yourself up and escape, but when you look over the edge of the cliff again, you fall down immediately again. The wind tears the screams of terror from your lips.

A massive, dark shape rises out of the foaming waves, a figure as tall as a mountain, taller, bigger! The disgusting head is that of an octopus, with curling tentacle arms sitting within the center of its face, each of those arms as thick as a bus and three times as long. Two red glowing eyes open in the horrible visage, leveling on you and after a moment the creature moves again, takes another giant step towards the shore that raises it further out of the water and you immediately wish it didn’t, your screams turning into frantic pleas when you see the wide, gnarled shoulders towering over the cliff-side. Some cruel force prevents you from fainting, keeps your eyes wide opened and glued to the Great Old One as he further emerges, water cascading off his profane corpus. The drums are still beating somewhere but maybe it is just the beat of a gigantic, eldritch heart or his form of speech but when the monstrous creature utters a growl so deep and rumbling it shatters your equilibrium, you throw every theory over board. This is just ultimate horror. With a booming clap not unlike thunder Chtulhu stretches out a pair of massive bat-like wings on his back, spraying you with salty water. The foul stench of a million rotting sea-creatures makes you retch and you double over on the muddy ground, heaving so hard you fear for a moment that you might spit out your intestines any second now.

The rumbling voice speaks again, but it is so deep and droning you can’t even make out any words, not even in that gruesome language you summoned him with. When you don’t reply, and how in the world would you ever have been able to?, the beady, red eyes narrow, the tentacles curl with a sound like trees being uprooted, and one of the gargantuan hands slowly closes in on you. You freeze, your mind lost in a frantic spiral of terror. _He’s going to kill me! He’s going to kill me, he’s-_ With a flare of burning pain the branding on your back awakens, causing you to cry out in agony. The hand the size of a house flinches back as though the Great Old One had been the one burned by it. A long, thrumming rumble escapes his chest and then the giant simply stares down on you, completely still. Another flash of pain, and you remember what else you were supposed to do to finish your mission.

    “H- Hatsville!” you croak out, doubting the monster can even hear you over the wind, so you point behind you, to where the town lies. Hopefully. Cthulhu raises his gross head to stare across the island. Then he nods slowly and stretches out his wings again. You realize he’s about to take flight and immediately know that the force from those wings would be enough to throw you off the cliff if they didn’t just kill you on the spot, but suddenly you’re pulled through the ground by an invisible hand, suspended in eternal fall in the realm of cursed, howling souls before you are spit out again, and not a moment too soon. The silence in Blackhat’s office feels too sudden, too jarring to you and you let out a howling scream yourself, covering your face in your shaking hands. “Delete it!” you cry out because you know he’s there, reveling in your terror, drinking in your dismay. “Please! Delete my memory! I- I c-can’t! I’m losing my _mind_!” You’re roughly pulled to your feet and pushed into a chair yet you keep your hands over your eyes. Blackhat grunts in irritation.

    “How pathetic, I thought you were used to the unspeakable dreads of this world by now. Take this and drink it before I force it down your throat myself!” He yanks down one of your hands and you are about to kick at him in defiance, but then something pleasantly warm is pushed into your palm and you flinch, opening your eyes after all. Blackhat’s gloved hand is holding a steaming cup of-

    “Hot… cocoa?” you mumble, raising your eyes to his face in confusion and instant suspicion. Fortunately this gesture is so strange and unlikely that it does a whole lot more to the integrity of your mind than the beverage itself. At the edge of your consciousness you realize he's shoved you into his own high-backed office-chair behind the desk, turned to the side so that the wan light from the window illuminates half of his face. He looks annoyed as always, but his single eye is still burning with ecstasy. You quickly take the mug into both hands before he can decide to empty it over your legs. But before you have a chance to take a sip, Blackhat’s other hand shoots forward and pours an amber-colored liquid into the cocoa. His grin widens.

    “To take the edge off, my dear ______. You did well tonight, so you’ve earned yourself front row seats to the spectacle… and a favor; I am a man of my words after all.” You take a breath to comment on that, but he grabs the backrest of the chair and swivels it around to the window, making you swallow everything on the tip of your tongue.

In the distance you see the same hulking, gigantic nightmare figure you just encountered rampaging through the city, tearing down buildings with each swing of his massive arms and wings, having a whale of a time from the looks of it. Blackhat laughs horrendously, crossing his hands on his back. “Ah, what a wonderful Christmas eve.” A huge explosion lights up the night sky and he sighs. “All those warm lights in the night.” You quickly look away and busy yourself with the hot cocoa in your hands, laced with rum. You’re still shaking and barely in control, but the first sip of the hot, chocolatey drink settles your fried nerves by the tiniest amount, why you keep sipping until the cup is empty and your body feels warm and fuzzy, all shaking gone. You even feel good enough to look back out the window, to where Cthulhu is tearing the city apart, illuminated by the spreading fires and military helicopters. Knowing that you’re going to be safe in here, it really isn’t such a horrible sight anymore. But now you are reminded of how exhausted you are after that hike and the horror-show right after that, your eyes falling shut the longer you fight to keep them open. You peel yourself off the chair and crack your back with a groan, trying to ignore the stare from your boss.

    “Well, that was… fun. For you, I guess. But I’m _beat_. If you don’t mind, I’ll head straight to-“

    “Oh, but the real show hasn’t even started yet…” he rumbles and you immediately take a staggering step away from him, sensing danger even through the haze in your tired brain!

    “Uh, yeah… I’m gonna pass on whatever it is you have planned, I’ll invoke my favor if I have to!” Yet Blackhat, who has fully turned around to you, only grins maliciously and takes out something from the inside of his coat, shaking his head at you. You find you have trouble focusing your eyes on it, and your entire body feels so heavy all of a sudden, like you’re already half asleep, or like you’ve been drifting in and out of sleep. Was this a dream maybe? Your vision becomes even more skewed and by now you’re seeing three Blackhat’s slowly walking towards you, which already seems more like a nightmare than reality!

    “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, my dear. And I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” You raise your hand in an attempt to keep him at a distance, and it connects with his chest so it’s probably not a dream, but then he just keeps walking and pushes you back against the desk, his huge teeth filling out your wobbling vision. Your other hand shoots forward, a razor sharp knife flashing between your knuckles, but he doesn’t even flinch when it sinks right into his chest up to the hilt. His visible eye is glowing red, the thin snake-pupil spinning in a never ending spiral.

    “Shit… you bastard… what was in that… cocoa?” you groan and try to look away, but you’re already trapped and feel your thoughts fuzzing out, feel with unnatural clarity how your brain shifts from one wavelength to the next until you are sleeping with eyes open, your consciousness being smothered by your surfacing subconscious. Strange shapes and images float around Blackhat’s nightmarish face as he snaps his fingers, and now you start to float yourself, away from him and onto the desk. At least you think that’s where you are now, you can’t feel anything, not even the knife you’re still holding. He steps back and it slides out of his shirt that instantly closes behind the blade. Blackhat grabs his chair and moves it in front of you before he takes a seat, one leg crossed over the other’s knee, conjuring up a glass of eggnog from nothingness.

    “Oh, nothing toxic. Just a powerful psychoactive drug that alters the user’s brain-wavelength to that of REM-sleep. I wanted to see this with my own eyes.” His grin widens in an unthinkable way thanks to your dream-state and he raises his other hand with the thing he had pulled out of his coat. In the last second before he presses the button on it you recognize the remote, the kill-switch for your clones, and try to steel yourself for the flood of memories, but of course it’s no use. You can’t move, can’t close your eyes, can only endure it as the first images crash over you, brought to life in sound and colors by your drugged brain. You see yourself in strange worlds, strange dimensions with weird colors, shapes and proportions, shrinking presents with Flug's shrink-ray gun in dark, silent houses and stuffing them into a big sack before replacing them with horrible doomsday-devices made by Dr. Flug™. In another world your clone swings through a giant tree with a real tree-city built into its branches, tossing explosives into each window, door and the portholes of a boat as well! With each new clone that seizes to exist, your brain gets more and more overwhelmed until the images blend into one sick maelstrom under raucous laughter from Blackhat and the sounds of the Great Old One rampaging through the city outside.

 

You don’t know how long it lasted in the end, your perception of time and basically everything else is utterly destroyed at this point and you barely register that Blackhat pushes you through the door to your room and husks a “Merry Christmas” into your ear before the door is closed again and you’re finally alone. There’s light shining through your windows, and you think at first it must be the rising sun, but when you look closer it’s only the gleam from the fires out in the city. The many memories of your clones are still whirling around in your mind, mixing together until you can’t even tell anymore if it’s really their memories or actually your own. Had you really summoned a horrible eldritch deity? No, that must’ve happened to another clone, no way!

With a groan you sink face first into your sheets, don’t even bother to change out of your muddy, stinking clothes. You can’t remember if you’ve seen what happened in South City with your two clones, but if Blackhat had seen it… well, you were still alive, right? And no broken bones, so he either hadn’t punished you for going behind his back or he simply hadn’t seen that memory of yours. Now all you can hope for is that it won’t surface in your dreams when you fall asleep, because you know he’s going to be there for the encore once it starts.

You have almost gotten used to the buzzing, swirling images in your mind, when something flashes through the sickening chaos like a glaring light, like a proverbial Christmas miracle, like that stupid fucking star some old dudes had followed in the desert! You stare with wide eyes at nothing as the memory plays out in your brain, fresh and crisp, not muddled by other, simultaneous memories:

Rick, how he greets your waking clone with a sarcastic comment and the note you wrote for it before already sending it off through the whirling green portal. South City, the nightly town immediately familiar to you, so much so that it pulls on all your heartstrings. Your clone retrieving the key to your secret safe house and entering. Here you make a face, as had your clone, when it had seen the layer of dust covering everything in the small apartment that you owned, so nobody would come bothering you for rent. The clone knew where to look, after all only two words had been enough to trigger its memory as well, and it took the present wrapped in colorful paper with a soft smile that you could see in the mirror on the wall over the trunk where the present had been hidden away. The clone blows the dust off the small package and heads out again, locking the safe house and depositing the key in its original spot. Then a cut in the memory and the next thing you see is a second you, looking perfectly baffled to see the clone Rick had created on the same rooftop.

    “What- did Flug send two of us here?” it asks, lifting the hood from its head to look at the other clone. The migraine returns with a vicious pounding at the double-image but you keep following the memory. The clone made by Rick shakes its head.

    “The original us sent me. Because of this.” It takes out the present and the second clone nods in understanding, chuckling.

    “Nice, she actually outplayed Blackhat!? Man, I don’t know how she did that, but it’s good to see you! So, what’s the plan? I kinda wanna see them, too, you know?” The second clone shakes its head.

    “Can’t do. You still need to ruin Christmas or Blackhat will get suspicious. I’m the one supposed to deliver this present. Oh, and can you not ruin Christmas for the gang? I asked me to tell you. Ugh, weird!” The other clone looks desperate now.

    “Oh come on, please? I miss them, too! Let me come with you!”

    “No.”

Suddenly the clone jumps the other, a blade in each hand. But, knowing yourself, the clone with the present expected the outburst and reacts quicker, shooting the charging clone with the gun Rick gave it along for the journey. The shot clone disintegrates and now you understand why you didn’t see its memories when Blackhat had deleted every other clone. It had _died_.

Your clone continues further to the edge of the city, to the waterfront, and you immediately realize how much your gang is struggling when you see the base. But you’re not here to help them, no. You’re just here for Frisk. Since the forces are spread so thin, you have no trouble sneaking in through the roof. The door to Frisk’s room is locked, of course, but you don’t have any problem here either, wedging the old lock open with the tip of a knife. And there they are, wrapped up tightly in too many blankets that are too thin, their brown mop of hair the only thing sticking out. Both you and your clone hold your breath, your hearts pounding painfully in your chest. Slowly, knowing exactly what a light sleeper Frisk is, your clone approaches the bed and places the present, a new striped sweater, silently on the wobbly nightstand next to their head. Then they hesitate, one hand still hovering over the present.

    “No, don’t!” you hiss out under your breath, as if you could stop it. This was bad, this wasn’t in the instructions, why was your clone disobeying!? You can only watch as it leans over Frisk, gingerly pulls the blanket down and slightly lifts its mask to press a fleeting kiss to Frisk’s cheek. Immediately they jerk awake, push your clone away and yank a huge kitchen knife from under their pillow. Your clone jumps back as well, but then it freezes and just looks at Frisk. They stare at the dark figure with the white mask, anger covering up most of their fear, but you see it on their face.

    “Who are you? If you think I’m an easy target, you better think again! Sans is going to tear you limb from limb you rotten-“ Suddenly they stop and eye your clone closer. Oh God, they had to see, they had to recognize everything about it, the stance, the jacket, the hood! “Who…” Before anything else can happen, your clone becomes see-through like a ghost, one hand still reaching out for Frisk, and the memory begins to fade away. The last thing you see is their lips forming your name in a question.

Lying alone in your bed, you suddenly realize you’re crying now after all. But you're smiling, too.

    "Merry Christmas, Frisk."

 

-

 

   “Merry Christmas 5.0.5!” you coo and pull the bear-paws away from his eyes. He lets out a loud _Baow_ of absolute joy and you can’t help but grin when the big blue bear immediately attacks his presents. Flug chuckles merrily and watches his creation open package after package from the mountain of presents over a steaming cup of hot cocoa. You have all snuck into the kitchen early in the morning to celebrate your own little Christmas, hopefully without Blackhat finding out about it and tossing you all into the dimension of eternal suffering for the rest of the year. Which would be terrible because you had promised Dementia a fight with heavy duty firecracker’s on New Year’s eve. Just now she slides you your own cup of hot chocolate over the counter and you give her a telling look, nudging your head to the side. She follows your eyes and spots the present you had gotten her for Flug. Behind his back she shoots you a grin and a thumbs-up.

    “5.0.5 really likes his presents, ______.” Flug tells you under his breath and you grin, getting up from your barstool to amble over to the mountain of presents.

     “Funny you should say that, Flug.” You say and grab one of the boxes. “Because this one here says Flug! Oooh, and this one says Dementia!” They both gape at you in unison and you snicker. “What, you honestly thought I wouldn’t get you something? Am I really _that_ evil?” Dementia is the first to recover when you hand her the present and she scoffs.

    “Psssh, my pinky is way more evil than you! Hey nerd, merry Christmas!” and she noogies Flug through his paper bag, cackling over his yelled curses. After a good session of noogies, and Flug finally managing to escape her chokehold, she hops onto the countertop and tears the giftwrap apart with her teeth. Her mouth falls open at the present and she looks over to you with wide, shining eyes. “Is that- is that the guitar from the lead-singer of _Pantyslayers_!?” she breathes out and you can’t help the grin rising to your face. You make a twirling motion with your finger, and she turns the electric guitar on its back, only to shriek out a fangirl-scream. “And it’s SIGNED?!”

In a flash she is on you and hugs you so tightly you can hear your rips cracking. But you’re still grinning. It hadn’t been easy to find the hideout of the villain-punkband but with a little help from Void, you had eventually hounded them down. Threatening the lead-singer to give you his beloved black guitar and sign it for Dementia had been comparatively easy.

    “Glad you like your present, Dem! Merry Christm- ouch!” you wheeze as she squeezes you one last time before she races out the kitchen, probably to jam in the basement. Flug shoots you an unreadable look from behind his googles and tries not to get excited as he opens his present now. Still, his eyes nearly pop out of his paper bag.

    “Dear Lord, is that- is that-“ You nod, interrupting his breathless stammering.

    “Ten pounds of pure Kryptonite, yes indeed! And don't ask me how I got that.” Flug squeals and hugs the black, heavy-duty briefcase to his chest. But then he snaps his eyes open and gives you a frantic look. Your grin turns mean.

    “I- uh… oh boy. I- I’m afraid I didn’t get y-you anything, ______.” He looks absolutely uncomfortable and embarrassed to the core, which was exactly what you had expected. It’s glorious! You pat his arm.

    “Aww, it’s okay, doc! You know, I’d really like some new gear if it’s not too much to ask. Maybe some antigravity-shoes? Infrared-cancelling field?”

Suddenly your branding flares up on your back and you wince at the pain. “Fuck… Boss is calling, I bet he’s already got work for me again.” Flug just waves as you leave the kitchen and head up to the office, Dementia’s guitar-riffs following you all the way to the second floor.

    “Alright, boss, where to?” you sigh as you step into the office, already putting on your gloves. Blackhat is standing by the window like always. Yet the view outside had drastically changed to yesterday: There’s only a sea of debris and collapsed buildings surrounding the hat-manor and you hiss in a breath when you see the entire extent of Cthulhu’s wrath. “Oof, Hatsville got totaled for Christmas.” You mutter to yourself, stepping up to your boss, who turns around to you with a crooked, nasty grin.

    “I believe you have a gift to unwrap.” He rasps, throwing you off your game instantly. You blink at him, openly confused.

    “I- what? Are you serious?” Then you look down and realize he’s wearing a _bowtie_ instead of his usual tie and he wags his brows at you. Immediately you recoil from him. “Oh no! No, no, no, thank you but no thank you!” With each step you take back he just steps one closer until you bump against the desk behind you and have to lean away from him as his hands already wrap around your waist. His single eye flashes at you before it darts up to the ceiling, his grin widening.

    “Aaand _right_ into my trap. I still got it.” He chuckles. You follow his glance and groan out loud when you spot the mistletoe dangling over you. This year Blackhat had really, _really_ ruined Christmas for everyone but himself.

 

The End! 

 

* * *

BONUS ROUND! I MADE NEW ART :3 have some horrible human!Blackhat

                  

 

* * *

*Yes! Yes! Cthulhu dreams! In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming! Rise from your sleep and destroy! Let your wrath free! I call upon you, Cthulhu! Yes! Yes! The great Cthulhu rises!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to PreferablyFluffy, for giving me this wonderful, awful mental image of Rick Sanchez and Blackhat interacting with each other; honey, you sparked a real obsession!
> 
> I took some lines from Dr. Seuss’s the Grinch, A Christmas Carol and Rick and Morty! The incantation the reader uses to summon Cthulhu is partially from the H.P. Lovecraft mythos itself, and partly translated with the R’Lyehian translator on LingoJam. 
> 
> Hoooooolly shit, this got so much fucking longer than I had planned it to, and I hope you like it despite the utter craziness of it all, my brain is basically mush at this point, too. 
> 
> Merry Christmas my lovely readers, thank you all so much for this incredible year I had with Your New Boss From Hell, and I’ll see you next year, with a fresh chapter of horror and dread ♥


	34. The Black Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We left our thief after Wingdings attacked out of nowhere and almost succeeded in having her kill Blackhat, wounded from another strike of her SOUL. Now, we return to witness the aftermath of that confrontation and what else it may have started...

_A knock on the door makes the skeleton look up._

_“what?!” he bellows at the slim human that sidles through the door, eyes flitting through the room in unease._

 

### 34\. The Black Throne

 

 

You swirl the drink in your hand, a glass of diluted absinthe since this was pretty much the only thing you felt you could stomach right now, the anise and fennel notes calming your fried nerves. Blackhat, slumped in the armchair next to you, is starting to look more and more like his usual horrible self again with every new sip he takes from the disgusting purple liquor he poisoned you with before. The fire in the hearth is filling the room with a toasty heat, and you’re glad he called upon one of the hatbotlers to bring the drinks to your room, instead of risking the long way down to the lounge. He hadn’t said anything, but you could plainly see that he wasn’t even able to teleport anymore, let alone use his other powers most likely. He was still wounded. Not that you were fairing any better right now, but it took a lot of the usual tension away to know that he wouldn’t likely be able to crush you in a giant fist if you got cute with him. Provided you would somehow find your usual sass again under all this exhaustion and stupor.

You curl your bare toes under the blanket, feeling the life returning into your mangled body, and with it the pain and the realization of what had taken place not even an hour ago. By now it was the middle of the night but you couldn’t possibly sleep now, not like this. You doubt you are ever going to be able to sleep again!

    “Okay…” you finally break the silence, hoarse, earning an annoyed side glance from Blackhat which you ignore. “Are we finally gonna talk about this? What the fuck was that back there?!” Your voice grows louder despite your best efforts, the shock and terror still deeply rooted within your being. Blackhat growls something unintelligible but decidedly unfriendly and you scoff a laugh, shaking your head. “Jesus Christ, boss, you can’t keep me in the dark forever, not when I saw you reduced to a helpless blob of slimy innards for crying out loud! What did my SOUL do to you? You know I didn’t do it on purpose, it reacted on its own because your greedy ass,” you point an accusing finger at him, the blanket he had the hatbotler bring up as well slipping from your shoulder, “was about to _snatch_ it! And Wingdings knew that this was going to happen, shit, he had _planned_ it to happen from the start! Blackhat, I was this close to actually killing you, how many people managed to do that before me?!”

    “Will you shut it for one bloody minute, you’re giving me a proper migraine you church-bell*!” Blackhat suddenly barks at you, crushing the glass in his hand and looking down at the mess of spilled alcohol and shards in his lap with another furious snarl furling his lips. “Bah! Now look what you made me do!” You sink back with a groan and wrap the blanket around your head, muffling a frustrated scream in the soft, eiderdown quilt.

    “Made you _do_?! I just saved your life, you _asshat_!” you cry out with a dry laugh when you emerge again, downing your own drink and smashing the glass into the flames, causing a greenish flash to erupt from the fireplace. “I had your cursed existence in my hands, and I chose to spare it!” – “A horrible decision, really…” he grouses into the bottle of liquor, taking a mighty swig straight from it now.

    “Glad we can agree on something for once!” you hiss back, piercing him with an angry glare. The room falls quiet once more, only the crackling of the fire disturbing the brooding silence. “I just… what was he trying to accomplish by killing you?”

    “Topple my empire, destroy my Organization, take over my network of course, you simple-minded-" The piece of firewood you throw at him hits him square in the side of his face, almost knocking the hat straight off. Blackhat turns to you with a look of utter disbelief before his face distorts in rage and he jumps off the chair, long claws reaching for you. “Why you insolent, little-!”

    “So this is how you repay _your_ debts? Some half-hour gentleman** you are.” You say calmly, steadily, raising your chin in haughty superiority. He stops and slowly sinks back into the armchair, talons scratching up the leather, undoubtedly imagining your skin beneath them. Then he eyes you a bit more thoughtful, the anger leaving him for a moment.

    “Did you really only stay your hand because you wanted me to owe you my life? Was that the _only_ reason?” he asks, the question sounding moved but you know better by now. This was a test. You nod, your answer not a lie for once.

    “That is the only reason. I would have benefitted from your death, but I also would have acted out exactly what Wingdings wanted me to do, without knowing what would happen next. If I had known, if he had actually let me in on his plans before, there probably would not have been a force great enough in this world, or any other, to stop me from ending your wretched life, Blackhat. And, to be honest, I’m not sure I would decide this way a second time, seeing as you're still treating me like shit.” You are more than surprised by the strength in your voice, a strength you don’t feel in your body at all. Blackhat’s look mirrors your surprise before it shoots down to your SOUL for a split-second and he smirks, for the first time since the incident. “What do you _see_ when you look at it?” you ask, honestly puzzled. You only knew what human SOULs looked like to monsters and Frisk: cartoon-shaped hearts with a range of colors to them that seemed to represent one’s dominant personality traits. Like a shitty horoscope. He rasps a low chuckle, returning your inquiring look with a narrowed eye.

    “A villainous little plant, sprouting its first leaves.” Is his ominous reply. You roll your eyes at the cryptic metaphor. “I see pain.” Blackhat goes on, unprompted, what you hadn’t expected. You look back at him, eyes wide, a cold shiver grabbing hold of you despite the warm fire at the enraptured tone of his words. “I see every ounce of suffering within you, the recent and the old agony, the sweet, sweet torment you don’t even know of… and yet this strength as well, a secret fire that keeps you fighting, like a little steam-engine. Your soul is so much more than what the monsters taught you about it, what your precious little Frisk told you.”

You flinch at their name, gasping.

    “How did you even know about Frisk!? I thought you couldn’t read my mind!” you quickly ask, hating the desperation in your voice but you just have to know. Blackhat leans back in his chair, scrutinizing you.

    “I guess there’s no harm in telling you… I explore your subconscious mind while you are asleep. If your brain is in a certain state of wave lengths, I can have access to your memories and your dreams, without your annoying monkey-thoughts scrambling everything.” Before he can continue you’re already up on your feet, balling the blanket together in front of your body with one hand, trembling from head to toe in fury.

    “That’s why… the bath bombs, your sudden knowledge of me and my name, why you knew about Frisk and Sans' catchphrase! Even last night when you watched me sleep!” He lays his head back against the chair, shooting you a sardonic grin.

    “Can you blame me? Such intriguing, painful moments you hide away; what delicious fragments of trauma. They call to me like a cat in heat, begging to be witnessed.”

You bark out an incredulous, bitter laugh and turn away, running your free hand through your hair.

    “I can’t believe my life got saved by a crazed, interdimensional megalomaniac only to go through _this_ day in and day out. Welp, at least the maniac who tried to use me as his pawn is dead for good now.”

Blackhat’s growl in your back makes your blood run cold: “As much as I _hate_ to say it; he’s not.” You whirl around to him, eyes widening in terror.

    “What?!” you exclaim. “Wingdings is still not dead? Didn’t you see what I did, what- what that _thing_ did?!” The vague memory of what had happened to you after he placed his hat on your crown is too terrible to think about it in greater detail, your mind straight up refusing to go there.

    “The power I lent you weakened him, yes. It forced him back into the dark spaces between existence, between dimensions. But… even now I can feel his slimy presence, skittering about like an insolent roach!” your boss grinds out between his teeth, his claws goring the already ruined upholstery in newly kindled wrath. You cough up a miserable snort.

    “If I recall correctly that _roach_ got you almost killed; and me, too. Fuck… what if he attacks us again? Like, when I’m asleep for example and you’re not stalking me for once?!” The panic claws at you with full force again, making your heart race away. Blackhat just rolls his eye at you, like he hadn’t nearly gotten killed himself less than an hour ago.

    “Don’t be absurd, he was only able to attack because I was… weakened and thus the shield I keep up against any threats from this and other dimensions. He will not dare to show his face again as long as I am in possession of my powers.” He says it arrogantly, but you can’t help the tiny smile rising to your lips as you realize what this insinuates as well.

    “So, does that mean you won’t try to taste my SOUL anymore?” you blurt out and receive a nasty, wide grin in return that immediately crushes your hopes and dreams even before he rasps it out: “Not at all, my dear. Not. At. All.”

You look away, discouraged, and slump your shoulders, wrapping the blanket tighter around you, nervously fidgeting with the edges. Just because Wingdings can’t attack again with Blackhat unharmed doesn’t mean he’s not going to do everything in his powers to further plot your boss’s death in the space between dimension. And now yours as well it would seem.

    “So, wha- what are we going to do about him now?”

    “Nothing.” Blackhat deadpans.

You blink. Then, when his face stays solemn, you groan.

    “Are you for real? You’re just gonna let him continue to wiggle around the manor, happy as a maggot in a dead rat, _plotting_ against you!? I thought you were supposed to be a God, and all… powerful and shit! Well fuck, if Dings is _that_ much stronger than you, maybe I really should have taken his side after all-” Before you can blink again he’s suddenly standing in front of you, a dark, talon-armed hand hovering closely over your throat.

    “Careful now my dear ______… I might owe my life to you for now but that doesn’t mean you can run your filthy little mouth like that and expect to get off without a smack on the wrist.” Without thinking about it, you shoot him a crooked grin, your brain not able to resist the pun.

    “Thanks, but I’m all good in the _getting-off_ department for now.”

His eye flashes at you, a horrible shark-grin splitting his face anew. The hand catches hold of your neck in a swift motion, his thumb running along the bruises he sucked onto the delicate skin earlier.

    “And yet you keep talking… Are you sure you want me to leave you a sobbing wreck again already? Why, you have barely recuperated.” He hisses menacingly, but you return his grin. For once you don’t care about what he might do to you. Because you know now that not even Blackhat is really immortal. And that you, your SOUL, is the key to his undoing.

    “Guess that makes two of us then, hm?” you purr back, running your palms up his chest and giving him a pat once you reach his shoulders. “Maybe _you_ should take it easy for now, I’m not exactly versed in caring for the _elderly_.”

Blackhat’s glare borders on murderous at your beaming grin and he points a hand to where your bed lies in the shadows.

    “I believe it’s time you shut up and got some rest now, if you don’t want to get skinned alive by me you insolent minx!”

    “Me-youch!” you snort and flip the black tie up into his face. Strange what two-, no _three_ near death experiences can do to you in one day. His thin pupil follows you as you cross the length of your room with a sassy flounce, dragging the blanket along behind you, and hop onto the bed, your head cocked to the side, letting the duvet fall open in a daring tease. “So… are you going to leave, or…”

Blackhat snarls, visually infuriated by your newfound sauce. But then he forces himself back into the armchair, grabbing the bottle from the side table where he left it.

    “I shall stay here, and maybe rummage around your miserable brain once you are asleep. Or rearrange your organs, whatever tickles my fancy.” He growls, flashing you another vile grin from beneath the shadow of his hat. You smile aridly and press a hand to your chest with a coo.

    “Aww how gallant of you to watch over my sleep. Such a gentleman! If I didn’t know any better I’d say you actually do care about me!”

His demonic eye pulses red and he raises his free hand in a blurred motion.

    “ ** _Sleep_**.”

 

-

 

You’re already asleep when you slump sideways onto the bed, limp in dreamless slumber. With your keen eyes now finally off him he allows himself to sink down deeper into the cushion of the armchair, hissing at the pain that is still raging through his form. The fresh distillation of souls had fortunately restored some of his energy. A good thing Alastor had been early with his delivery, the souls he brought not even half bad. _Bless that three times cursed bastard. Even more malicious in death than when he was still alive. I knew it would pay off to… kickstart his career in Hell._ If things worked out on his side eventually, the Radio Demon would soon bring him more, and fresher ones, too. But Blackhat knows that a few souls won’t be enough to restore all his powers.

Restless from pain and the resonant shock, he forces his legs to hoist him out of the chair again, flabbergasted that even this usually insignificant motion makes his physical form howl in pain. He feels over the left side of his face, incredulous, noticing the fine cracks in the monocle. He had to retreat for now, really retreat! There was only one place where he would be able to recover and get his thoughts aligned, piece himself back together, and make sure everything was still in order. But he could not simply leave, not without taking some precautions. At his beck and call a scratching comes from the door to the hallway. Blackhat opens it for the phonebot and picks the scuttling device up, dialing. After a good dozen rings, the panicked voice of Flug answers.

    “Y- yes, Lord Blackhat, what can I do for-" – “I’ll be _gone_ for a while, so dispatch the usual security measures. And you know the consequences should anything happen during my… absence.” He growls at his science expert. Flug stammers: “Y-y-yes, of course, boss! A- about the mission-"

    “I will deal with that on the morrow! You were apparently successful, judging by Dementia’s trophy, so there is no pressing need for me to _punish_ you for failing.” He pauses for a second and then adds, curious: “But do tell me, doctor… do we have a lead?”

Flug swallows audibly. His voice is still shaking but he manages to answer: “Yes.”

    “ _Good_.” He hangs up, pleased that at least this endeavor had proven fruitful and he knew now how to proceed from here. With a last long gaze at you - your naked form colorless in the twilight just outside the flames' reach - he opens a portal to That place, grinding his teeth at the agonizing amount of effort it costs him to traverse from the mortal plane into the liminal space, to the place where it had all started.

The thin, monotonous whine of accursed flutes and the maddening beating of countless vile drums greet him as soon as he steps out of the whirling gate, the light from the fires almost glaring in the never-ending stoking of their flames, and he feels, immediately, the proximity to the Outer Realm, to his real body, waiting just outside reality; at the center of ultimate Chaos. The whirling vortex of inconceivable colors around the small island of floating stone is a welcome sight, for it is calming in its familiar dullness. A shaky, relieved breath leaves his chest, followed immediately by a snarl at his own lack in poise.

Without paying the frantically flapping horde of amorphous dancers and mindless musicians a second glance, not that they would have ever taken notice of his presence to begin with, he stalks over to the massive yet crude chair, gouged from a solid piece of black stone at the other end of the floating rock. Sensing the dark energy beginning to seep back into his avatar, Nyarlathotep sinks down on the cold throne, hands caressing the rough armrests. From up here he has the best view over the assembly of witless minions, forced, by none other than himself, to pipe and drum and dance for all eternity, lest they would simply seize to exist. As would everything else should their endless lullaby stop one accursed day. Beyond them, past the spiraling black vertices of that ultimate void of Chaos, the Black Pharaoh can sense, more than he sees, the gargantuan, sprawled mass of He Who Dreams All, the Blind Idiot God himself, the Daemon Sultan and Nuclear Chaos. Azathoth. His father.

A pleased grin splits his ashen face when he finds him still fast asleep, forgotten in deepest slumber, and he reclines further in the throne, watching the dancers while his powers slowly return to their original strength. Out here, at the edge of reality itself, he is free to ruminate about the recent events in peace without any interruptions. For example the fact that he had nearly died. By the hands of a mortal no less.

The precarious proximity to his slumbering creator forces him to rein his fury in before it can even surface. Yet he gnashes his teeth all the same, claws carving deep lines into the massive stone slabs. He had made a grievous mistake, a fatal miscalculation that had almost cost him his life in this reality. Not that he would have seized do exist altogether, he doubts that. After all, his real body was still out there, waiting like a vacated vessel. But getting back would have taken him time, time he wasn’t willing at all to sacrifice for such a moronic blunder! If… _if_ his essence would have even been intact enough to reach it, that is. Blackhat observes the pain he feels receding, however still sensible which is already alarming on its own. He had felt discomfort before, even physical sickness, yet _never_ actual pain. But what had really shaken his fundamental understanding of this reality, of his own person and abilities, worse than the pain and wilting of his corporeal form, was the mind numbing _fear_ he had felt when you raised the knife with that look of realization and shy relief in your eyes. The eyes of someone who had been given the opportunity to rid themselves off their oppressor once and for all.

Yet the fact that you had refused to kill him made it all the more clear to see: you were a villain at the very core; a cunning, calculating, foresightful opportunist with ruthless resolve. No morally good aligned being would have even hesitated at the chance to free the world of the most vile scourge it had ever seen, and it wasn’t because you had the delusion that there was good inside him that you didn't do it, no. You had put his survival, no, not even that! You had put the _favor_ , the power and advantage you’d get from saving his existence, over the destruction of evil incarnate!

He breathes out a husky chuckle, incredulous and deeply fascinated. After all the ultimate villains he had watched come and go, and created himself, all those megalomaniac overlords of chaos and destruction, the psychopathic terrorists, serial killers, demons and dark forces personified, it was a regular, human _thief_ without any otherworldly powers that had brought him to his knees, that captivated his eye, his interest, boggled his mind and surprised him over and over in the shortest amount of time. You were an enigma. In fact, you were more than that; not only does he not have a single clue how your soul is this powerful and volatile, no, even his most dangerous gamble, his last and desperate resort of lending you his very own power, had turned out better than he could have ever anticipated. Because you had _survived_ it. More yet, always more to baffle him, you had been able to use his power! You were no mere enigma – you were a wonder.

A hand palms over his chest absentmindedly, over the spot where the pain is still most severe. Yes, he had tried to steal your soul in the heat of the moment, unable to resist its temptation any longer, unable to _exist_ any longer without devouring, owning, _assimilating_ this rare treasure, this outstanding essence of corrupted, darkened light. But it had fought back, and not only with teeth this time. In the short moment before the excruciating pain and his collapse, he had felt this sudden intention of… _annihilation_.

A frown creases his brow. If he had a heart, a real one, not the organ he can manifest to fake a pulse or scare Flug’s abomination with, it would have quickened its pace at the thought. Your soul had tried to annihilate his essence, and apparently it had almost succeeded. Which means that he will have to be very, very cautious in the future because there is no way in Hell he will not try to have a taste again! And again… He shivers in delighted arousal, drool running from the corner of his mouth. If he can’t take your soul the usual way, and now he knows that he can’t, he will simply have to wait for it to be set free, when you die by the hands of someone else. And while he is virtually brimming with impatience, he can’t quite bring himself to speed things up a little for that to happen sooner.

    “No.” he says out loud, unheard in the cacophony of hideous clamor. “There is still so much more pain and horror I can wreak on her… not to mention the delicious chaos and destruction she will bring… my precious, little thief.” His grin is wicked and sharp, a huge crescent of glowing green teeth in his dark face as he rises from the throne and curls one hand into a fist on his back, his posture tall, straight as an arrow and immaculate down to the tails of his re-materialized coat again. He feels invigorated, as expected, fresh and rested. With newfound energy he strides through a new portal, a sudden notion guiding his steps, a macabre intrigue, something he had wanted to do for a while now, ever since he retrieved that gear belt of yours from this particular world, no, ever since he visited your memories for the first time. And he has the suspicion that he will also find a lead on how to crack this enigma you embody beyond that portal. Another step, and the stench of the big, filthy town envelopes him like a thick, warm, rotting blanket, calling all his senses to attention.

South City.

She is a filthy old broad, vast and sick, corrupt and foul, just the way he likes them. He summons his black cane and starts walking, strolling through the darkest alleys, letting his feet take him deeper into the maze of streets with no actual destination in mind at first. Like always, he finds what he’s looking for soon enough: from the shadows he observes muggings, drug deals, drug deals gone awry with multiple deaths, murder, rape, even an all out gang fight between humans and monsters. Intrigued, he watches how the victorious monsters fight over who gets to absorb the human souls while their fallen companions turn to dust in the puddles between the cobblestone. Blackhat wonders if there would be any effects from snorting monster dust as he turns away from the scene with a hearty chuckle, continuing his walk through the town that had shaped you. He’s aware that he’s getting closer to where he found your dumped gear, closer to the warehouse by the waterfront where all this had started. And while this is not the actual place he wants to go to, it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick peek. The night was still young.

    “Gimme your wallet, asshole!” Suddenly a dark figure darts around the nearest corner, flashing a blade into his face. Blackhat gives the filthy man a grin in return, one of his _better_ ones. The mugger pales, drops the knife and stumbles backwards, shrieking, his mind already utterly lost. Crying bloody murder he scrams, most likely to kill himself later because he would not be able to bear the nightmares. Blackhat’s rasping laughter follows him into the night and seals his fate. He rounds the corner the thug had come from and catches a glimpse of a spray-painted black top hat within a circle, pleased to see his company emblem worshipped even in this remote dimension. He was known in many of these scattered worlds, different versions of the same reality, skewed like trick mirrors on a fair, with his presence, his organization and its services binding them all together into the intricate web that was his network for villains. His magnum opus.

Suddenly he pauses, the scene after the gang fight pushing its way back to the forefront of his thoughts. How exactly had that blasted intruder, Wingdings, managed to save you from getting executed without getting caught in the act? Surely your former, skeletal employer wouldn’t have passed on the opportunity to kill you personally and steal that soul of yours for himself! Another mystery, but not important right now.

He can hear the sea now, the smell of salt and rotting fish growing heavier in the damp air, mixing with the other stenches, and there it is, an old brick stone warehouse, heavily guarded by humans and monsters alike. But he keeps walking, unseen, straight through the closed front door. The inside reminds him of a busy beehive despite the late hour, monsters of all kinds running about to relay messages, humans playing poker at a wobbling table and henchmen of both races preparing their gear for a bigger heist in the back. He has no trouble picturing you here, mouthing off, playing pranks on your superiors, or hiding up in the metal framework under the roof to observe the ado, a ghost among the less keen of senses.

    “WHY ARE YOU STILL NOT OUT FOR WORK?! THE GREAT PAPYRUS ORDERED YOU TO STOP LAZING ABOUT HALF AN HOUR AGO!” The grating, harsh voice causes Blackhat to snarl and turn his head in irritation, towards the tall skeleton monster that storms into the hall. He’s wearing a black pinstripe suit under a self-made jacket with huge spikes on the shoulder pads that look more like actual armor plating, an expensive red scarf and spiked motorbike boots. The cracked skull with smoldering red eyes reminds him of the pale mask he has encountered not that long ago and his teeth bare in seething anger, the hand on his back twitching, but he reminds himself that he is only here as a spectator. For _now_.

The humans at the table all jump up in unison and scram, leaving the tallest Gaster sibling kicking up a shindy at their low work morale. He has a point, but lousy assertiveness. No, Blackhat’s interest lies a few stories up, and he teleports into the office he remembers vividly from your first memory he had witnessed in his dungeon and that had changed your fate in the dark cell. Sure enough, the stench of mustard and cigars invades his nose, making him scowl. There he is, the huge, fat skeleton mobster he owes his new asset to. Beads of sweat are running down his skull, the cigar between his white, ring-laden phalanges long forgotten and burned out. With a hoarse curse he bangs a fist on the desk, cracking the brittle wood even more. Blackhat swiftly steps around the table and peers down on the paper before the monster, noticing with fiendish delight that it is an invoice from his very own organization for recent purchases. A lovely sum.

A soft knock on the door makes the skeleton look up in anger.

    “what?!” he bellows yet still manages to sound lazy. The door creaks open and a slim human sidles through it, gaze flitting through the room in unease. Blackhat can’t suppress a wide grin. With another blurred motion he’s standing in front of them, raking his eyes over their frail form, taking in the sight of yet another unusual and astonishing soul. So this has to be-

    “frisk, doll, didn’t i tell ya not to bother me?” the mobster drawls, his voice now seemingly calm and even a little amused, but it doesn’t take someone with Blackhat’s abilities to know what’s lurking beneath. The human, Frisk, nods quickly and closes the door behind them, hands fumbling with the washed out sweater that’s still too big for them.

    “You did, Sans.” They whisper, eyes cast to the side. Blackhat turns towards the skeleton, just in time to see the white pinprick lights inside his eye-sockets vanish.

    “an' what are ya doin'ere, sweetcheeks?” comes the furtive ask, the trap. Would they fall for it? But then Frisk jerks up their head, a cold gaze resting on the monster, cold but also strangely neutral, distanced. As if there was someone else suddenly occupying this fragile vessel.

    “Papyrus needs more men to keep the northern territory under your control. He asked me how we’re looking on money.”

With a speed Blackhat had not anticipated, Sans teleports from the chair straight in front of Frisk, grabbing the collar of their sweater with a giant fist of bones, shaking them.

    “he knows exactly that i can’t give him more men if he doesn’t bring in some fuckin' cash first! an' you better not come **botherin'** me with that shit again, ya hear me?!” he releases them and shuffles back to the desk, straightening the west of his suit. “now be a good lil doll an bring me another one, eh?” Sans growls, lifting the empty mustard jar next to the ashtray. Frisk swallows nervously, their hands shaking, the cold indifference from before gone as if never there to begin with. _Interesting…_

    “A- about that… we- that was the last one.” They stammer, earning a shrug and an annoyed grunt from their boss.

    “well, then what’re waitin' for, go buy a new one, ya dolt!” When they shake their head he rises to his feet again. “what was dat, doll? ya don’t even wanna buy yer man a new jar of mustard?!”

    “Sans, we don’t have the money!” Frisk chokes out. “Y- you keep spending it all on those weapons and traps and there’s just nothing left to get food! We’ve barely been scraping by ever since-"

    “don’t ya fuckin' say her fuckin' name ya lil bitch, she had it comin'! that’s what ya get for tryna cross **_me_**! an' weren’t you the one who snitched on ‘er an' made me kill my best thief in the first place?!” Sans roars, his left eye socket flaring up with a blazing, floating eyeball of red and gold, smashing Frisk into the ground with a wave of his hand. Blackhat grins to himself and steps back into the shadows; as much as he would have loved to stay and watch this. He’s honestly surprised to learn that you had apparently contributed quite a bit to your former gang's income, if not the majority of it if you’re absence is enough to cause such a crisis. He would have to make use of your skills soon for his profit, first thing in the morning.

He emerges at the outskirts of South City, following a path that leads deep into the dark woods, away from the town and its stench, slowly weaving up the mountain until he reaches a clearing, the blank flank of bedrock glistening silver in the light from the moon. A gaping hole marks the entrance, or exit rather, to an entirely different part of this world. The Underground. From your memories he knows that the monsters had been trapped beneath the mountain until some twenty-odd years  ago, when Frisk had set them free after falling into the Underground and fighting their way back out. But the abandoned caverns are not why he came here. He turns to the right, follows an almost invisible track through another part of the woods, to a second, bigger clearing.

The thinning trees reveal the enormous ruins of a once magnificent estate, burned down to the foundation, huge vines creeping over the crumbled rubble. He walks through the destroyed gate, across the overgrown yard and into the ruin of the manor itself. The marble slabs of the vast front hall are cracked and covered in moss and lichen, wild wine choking the scorched remains of pillars that used to support the high ceiling. He crosses the hall slowly, scanning every inch before he finally stops at a peculiar spot, halfway hidden beneath the burnt skeleton of a grand staircase, where once the spandrel must have been. There’s a tiny bed of golden flowers, gleaming even in the darkness. Blackhat sinks to one knee in front of it, and when he touches one of the golden petals, the single, horrible scream of a child, full of fright and despair, echoes through the past into the present, bringing a wicked grin to his face as he begins to understand.

At the same time, you start to flinch in your sleep.

 

* * *

*Church-Bell (victorian) Talkative woman

** Half-hour gentleman (victorian) A man whose apparent good breeding is only superficial.

Bonus! A throwback to chapter 24. WTH 👀💦💦 art © ThetruemeK - Don't forget, I'll post artwork to @YNBFHofficial on twitter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year my lovely readers!!! I hope you all had an amazing start into 2020, and are hungry for more!
> 
> So! Blackhat, the Crawling Chaos, Nyarlathotep - is the son of Azathoth, the Blind Idiot God! And he's not as immortal as he thought! Question is: why does Wingdings know this and wants him dead? We shall see soon enough my little thieves... 
> 
> **Next update on the 12th of January!**


	35. I Don't Like Mondays

_“Is he gone?!” You jump at the sudden, somehow familiar voice from behind a heavy door. You sneak up to it, readying a knife in each hand._

_“Who are you? And yeah, he is.” The voice spits out a relieved sob._

 

 

### 35\. I Don’t Like Mondays

 

 

When he opens his eyes, there’s suddenly the corridor of the second, no, the third floor stretching out in the darkness before him instead of the comforting familiarity of the plane's interior. He whines a little, but moves to stand either way, resignation already beginning to replace the terrible start he feels. It’s not the first time he woke up in a different part of the manor with no recollection of how he got there and what happened in between. 5.0.5 rubs at his eyes with a blue paw that has sticky, dried drool on it, yawning. He always felt so strangely exhausted after this… what had his dad called it again? _It’s_ _called noctambulism. You’re sleepwalking my little sunshine._  

With a deep, weary huff he turns around and lumbers down the hallway, towards the elevator, to get back to his mountain of stuffed animals and go back to sleep. His dad never said it with one word, but 5.0.5 knew that he was worried about his sleepwalking, which only started after his _other_ dad had done something to him, something scary that had involved a pentagram and howling voices. He always did scary things to frighten him for a laugh, but this had been different, as it had left something permanently changed – causing him to wake up in different parts of the manor in the middle of the night. At least he never wandered outside at night. That would be a lot scarier!

When he passes the last door before the elevator, the bear suddenly stops in his toddling steps, his sensitive ears picking up a noise from your room. A whimper, close to a cry. Concerned, he steps up to the door and presses one ear to the wood. There it is again, but this time it sounds like you’re trying to say something. Were you in pain? 5.0.5 doesn’t hesitate and opens the door. He finds you on the end of the bed, halfway wrapped up in the blanket, tossing and turning from nightmares, groaning in dismay. The sight reminds him of his dad, of the nights when the cryo-bed he had built was not enough to keep the bad dreams at bay. He doesn’t want you to have nightmares or be in pain either, he likes you so much! You don’t yank on his flower like Dementia, or push him around and scare him or call him a failure. You don’t even shout at him. In his eyes, you are kind and good. He whines, torn between returning to his own sleeping place so his daddy wouldn’t worry, and staying here and making sure you were going to be okay.

In the end the decision is not really a hard one to make and he carefully crawls onto the huge bed, enveloping you in his soft arms, wary not to crush you with his strength. You jerk at the touch and your eyes briefly flutter open, locking with his in confusion, your lips moving.

    “Mom? Why… hide…” 5.0.5 growls soothingly, squeezing your trembling body through the blanket and your eyes fall shut, an exhausted sigh escaping you. He waits a while, but the nightmares don’t start again, so he rests his head down and nuzzles into the blanket. For once he feels like his sleepwalking did something good; after all he would have never known about your pain if they hadn’t brought him up here. His own eyes slowly sink shut and he begins to drift away…

Until he notices the trace of a smell clinging to you that immediately jerks him wide awake again; it’s something dirty and unpleasant, stinging in his sensitive nose and alarming him. He _knows_ that smell, yet he doesn’t know what it means. He once noticed the same stench on his dad years ago when he was just a cub himself. Come to think of it, he remembers his daddy being extremely exhausted that night as well and covered in bruises just like you. But apart from that 5.0.5 only knows that it was Blackhat who left that smell, and the bruises as well most likely, and that does make him nervous, so he raises his head to look closely around the room. The only thing he finds out of place is the dark bottle from the liquor cabinet in the lounge, sitting on a table by the fireplace, but this could mean that his other dad might return any time now to retrieve it. It’s not hard to imagine what he might do if he found him here. 5.0.5 feels the usual fear rising yet he doesn’t want to leave you in case the nightmares come back. With a determined huff of air he snuggles back into the blanket, hugging you tighter. He would protect you, even from Blackhat. Because you were _good_.

 

-

 

A few hours later you wake up from the sensation of being boiled alive, the heat so unbearable it jerks you out of your deep, dreamless slumber. For a horrible second you think you may have actually died in your sleep and ended up in hell, but when you move around there’s soft fur brushing against your bare skin and you relax so immediately your body feels like it deflates. It’s just 5.0.5 who apparently snuck in during the night to cuddle. And the fact he’s still here can only mean that Blackhat _isn’t_. _Poor thing, must've had a nightmare and who wouldn't in this haunted place…_ you think and squirm around to get out of the suffocating bear-hug and breathe fresh, cold air. It’s heartwarming to think the little fluff would come all the way to you, yet with Flug sleeping in that sci-fi bed of his, you doubt there are that many more options for 5.0.5 to go in case of a nightmare. Or any for that matter. The bear growls quietly and hugs you even tighter in response to your movement, making it a little too hard to breathe. Your bruised body objects viciously against any squeezing and you frantically slap a hand on his paw now.

    “Bud! Could you- _not_ crush me please?!” you wheeze out, alarmed at the thought that he might startle and react feral, the way he had when you woke Flug, and tear you to shreds, but 5.0.5 just _aow_ s sleepily and then mercifully lets go off you to stretch, yawning a mildly terrifying bear-yawn. You roll away over your back and promptly fall off the bed with a yelp, remembering briefly that you had been sitting on the very edge of it when Blackhat put you to sleep, before the impact on the floor replaces every other thought with _pain._ “Owww…” you groan, suppressed. 5.0.5 pokes his head over the edge of the mattress with a worried sounding string of cooed growls that make you smile crookedly despite the burning agony in your frame. “Noo, it’s not your fault, five-o'.” you calm him and slowly get up on your feet, hissing at the feeling of soreness standing up causes. The fact that you can’t even tell if you got the bruises from the fight to the death with Dementia, Wingdings' attack or… Blackhat’s twisted idea of love-making _is_ concerning, to put it mildly. Well, at least you didn’t suffer any bones broken from either. Now the mental trauma however…

You shake your head, banishing the surfacing memories to the farthest corner of your mind, or as best as you can. Without any actual explanation from Blackhat, and you doubt you're ever going to get one, you would only ponder yourself insane trying to figure it out on your own, anyway. Like, why Wingdings was doing all this, or why the hell your SOUL was somehow able to not only harm Blackhat, but nearly kill him! Or what his cursed top hat had done to you; what you had _become_ in those few-

    “Stop. Thinking. About. It!” you growl, bumping the side of a fist against your forehead. With a few brisk steps you’re at the wardrobe and yank some clothes out of it that you quickly pull on before a whine catches your attention. When you turn back to the bed, 5.0.5 looks like he doesn’t want you to leave, his glistening puppy-eyes flitting nervously towards the two armchairs in front of the dead fireplace. You follow them and spot the bottle of liquor Blackhat had left, your face growing unbearably hot again at the sight alone, no resurfacing memories needed. The stolen watch around your left wrist tells you that it is 7 am, and you already take a breath to tell the bear you were going to be fine and that he should go upstairs to get some more sleep, when you see the dried blood on your arm, trickled down from where Blackhat had bitten into your shoulder. You sigh and strip out of the pants again to head into the bathroom.

This day was already ruined.

 

A shower later you drag your feet down the gallery towards the lounge, your hand gripping the bottle tighter involuntarily. It’s strange that Blackhat left it in your room but maybe he had just been more exhausted and weak from _his_ near death-experience than he had let on, and simply forgot about it.

Fortunately for you the lounge is empty as well, no sign of your boss with benefits. You hurry to put the bottle back where it belongs though; better not linger unnecessarily and risk running into him already before you’ve had the chance to eat something and drink a coffee in peace. At least after what happened to him last night you’re pretty sure he’s not going to try and taste your SOUL again any time soon, no matter what he said. However, you don’t want to think in great detail about how that forced abstinence from his favorite obsession is going to turn out for you.

When you open the door to leave, you jump back with a shocked gasp. Flug – who’s suddenly standing there with his hands on his back, only a dark silhouette against the bright, red light from the window behind him – cocks his head at you, the tinted goggles glinting with a poisonous green gleam from the ever-roaring fireplace behind you. He chuckles.

    “There you are, ______; without that convenient tracker I would have been looking all over for you in this giant manor.” Inside your head you’re screaming bloody murder at yourself for _almost_ forgetting to put the extracted tracker back on your shoulder under a big Band-Aid after you had taken that shower. If Flug had checked for its signal in your room while you were already gone…

“I was just curious to know…” he continues, still in that casual, pleasant tone that makes your hairs stand on end immediately. Something was wrong. Very wrong! But what? What had you done this time to anger the Flug?! You even brought him coffee yesterday for crying out loud!! Suddenly he brings his hands to the front and it takes all your street-years of experience to not flinch away. It’s not a gun; it’s the black glove he had built for your heist. “Where’s the other one?”

_Oh. Oh shit!_

He has to see your expression of sudden realization and start, but Doctor Flug merely waves the glove around, chuckling nasally again. “You _dropped_ this one in the hangar. Would be a shame if you only had one of them on your next job, right? And I wanted to check them anyway, see if they need fine-tuning or repairs.”

You swallow, hard, and bite your lip, preparing your body for everything that might come next. You survived almost five minutes against Dementia yesterday! Flug is no match because this time you’re (sort of) rested and not (that badly) injured.

    “Umm… doc, I’m sorry to say this but… I kinda lost the other one.”

Flug moves his head back a little and the reflection from the fire vanishes, leaving his goggles pitch black.

    “You… _lost_ it? As in, it got _destroyed_ during the fight with the hero?” he asks and you quickly nod your head.

    “Yeah! I tried to use the plasma cutter and it went up in flames, like you said. Sorry.” You can’t believe he would give you the perfect opening for this beautiful-

    “Lie-detected.” A robotic voice rasps from his wrist and your blood suddenly runs so cold it feels like it vacates your body. It really wouldn’t have surprised you if you’d find it in a puddle beneath you. _Shit! Shitshitshitshit-_

    “You want to rephrase that, maybe, _______?” Flug says, now a lot less friendly and his empty hand slowly sinks into the pocket of his coat, to where he keeps the remote for the hatbots. Only what he pulls out of it is not said remote for once. It looks like the ankle monitor Dementia wears around her leg, though this one looks a lot more like it’s meant to be worn around the neck. Adrenaline shoots into your body and you raise your hands in a wide and dramatic shrug, trying to draw his attention to them and not to your feet that you bring into a slightly better stance at the same time, shifting your weight.

    “Alright, fine, you got me. I dropped it back in the museum to check Void’s vitals and… forgot it there, yeah. But hey, the idiot who found it is gonna get it burned to a crisp anyway if he uses it, right? There’s no way someone could use that to trace it back to-“ Flug takes a sudden step towards you, raising the collar and taking a strange gun out of his coat at the same time. You slowly lift your hands back up in defense. “Woah, Flug, come on, man. It’s- it’s just a glove!” His eyes behind the glasses narrow at you.

    “Yes. _Just_ a glove. Which _I_ fabricated with top-secret, unique technology and which has _your_ DNA and prints all over it! And to think _I_ get punished for _your_ mistakes, not to mention the lack of respect you seem to have! The _nerve_! But…” he waves the collar around, “luckily that’s nothing a good old electroshock-therapy won’t be able to correct!” The gun is aimed at you now but you slowly shake your head.

    “You don’t want to do this, Doc, trust me.” You warn him, quickly estimating which direction is the best to dodge and make a grab for the gun. Flug laughs out maniacally and releases the safety. The unusual weapon emits a low humming sound that quickly gets louder and by now you’re pretty sure it’s some sort of laser weapon.

    “Oh but I do want to do this! Very much. _Trust_ me; I’m a _doctor_.” He jerks the gun up, indicating you to raise your hands. Which you do, steadying your breath. Then you blink, masking the dilation from your pupils, and dash forward, crossing the few feet between you with a wide stride and getting close enough to him to evade the angle of the laser gun that promptly goes off and almost pulverizes Blackhat’s armchair. Flug shrieks in start and wheels around to correct his aim but then you’re already on him and draw up your leg to knee him in the groin, which you normally wouldn’t have done but you have the feeling that this was _personal_. The evil genius yelps in pain when your knee connects with his crotch, but he doesn’t double over from that. Shit, he doesn’t even drop the gun!

    “What the fuck?!” you hiss out and look him over in confusion. A second too long; his other hand darts forward and suddenly the cold metal collar wraps around your throat with a snap! Before you can even try to get it off, Flug shoves you away from him and presses a button on his watch. Instantly your body goes up in glaring white pain as the electric shocks zap through it, making your muscles seize and spasm, and you simply drop to the floor, all control over your limbs gone. Above you Flug cocks his head.

    “You really should have gone for the gun.” He points out lowly and snickers maliciously, finally deactivating the collar. You groan in agony, your hands twitching on their own, your tongue bleeding where you bit it, but you manage to turn your head around to look up.

    “H-how?! Are you a- actually wearing a suspenser you nerd?! Even that superhero on steroids almost fell on his face… when…” And then it clicks. Your eyes widen at Flug, missing the way his thumb trembles warningly over the watch. “You… don’t actually _have_ the balls, huh?” Immediately you’re fried again by the collar, the shocks reaching a new intensity that makes you scream despite the risk of biting your tongue clean off this time. So that explains the scar you saw under his chest, and now you’re pretty sure there’s a matching one on the other side. Flug isn’t biologically male it would seem. Well, wouldn’t you have been surprised if you had actually considered to blow off some steam with him.

You don’t even realize the shocks have stopped again already; your entire body still feels like it’s on fire, especially your neck.

    “Are you going to behave now?” Flug hisses and you choke out a bitter, disbelieving laugh, trying to get your shaking limbs and chattering teeth under control.

   “F-f-f- _fuck_ , man, _you_ tried to shoot me! I was just going to run out the door!” – “Lie-detected.” - “Ugh, fuck your stupid watch! What’s your problem, anyway?! It’s not about the glove, that’s bullshit!” Another groan rips through you, your breathing feeling funny from the shocks and you growl, anger taking over your brain now, anger over the pain and this asshole's obvious problem with you. “ ‘s not my fault I’m Blackhat’s _new_ top bitch-"

The last, sentient thought you have is _Why?! Why did you say that you idiot?!!_ when the world disappears in an agonizing wave of heat and glaring light, the last thing your senses pick up before you fade away being Flug’s panicked “Oh, oh no!” and then suddenly Blackhat’s horrible, triumphing laughter.

 

 

_Heh. Shoulda known you’d be back for me eventually… but I ain’t going down without a fight-_

_What? Who-_

_______! Sweetie, no, you need to stay in there, okay? Like when we play hide and seek! And whatever happens, don’t-_

_Who… who are you? What is this…_

_You! You were not meant to even exist!_

_What? What do you mean-_

_Shhh, it is all going to be alright now, kitten, I will take good care of you…_

_No…_

_Honey! Where’s ______?! Where is she?! Oh, oh God no, they’re at the door! They’re-_

_No… no this isn’t-!_

_heh, cute. give em hell boys._

_No… don’t! I don’t wanna die! I don’t-_

 

You’re jerked up by a forceful inhale, your heart stumbling and hitching arrhythmical in your chest but it thunders painfully against your ribs either way.

_Alive. I’m alive?_

You can’t move, don’t feel your limbs yet, only the center of you body - chest, neck and head - everything hurting, even your ears because there’s a shrilling tone, like the aftermath of a detonation, that slowly fades over into a voice, high pitched and pleading:

    “… fault… Boss, I- I don’t know what-, I didn’t _mean_ to kill her, oh God, please, please don’t-" Flug shrieks in fear but his begging is abruptly shut up by Blackhat who chortles lowly.

    “Usually I would do the same to you, Flug, as punishment for _damaging_ Organization property, but your impulsive wrath actually proved itself useful to me for once. Now get that thing off of her. I don’t want it getting in the way.” The boss growls, educing a squeak from the scientist.

    “Y-yes, sir, of course.”

Cold rubber gloves mess with your burnt neck and the collar around it, taking longer than Flug needs to because his hands are shaking so hard. You wait for another two breaths until you’re sure you can control your limbs again, and then you shoot up from the ground in a flash and punch him straight in the face, feel his nose breaking with a satisfying snap underneath the paper bag. Flug cries out at the pain and falls over on his ass, covering his face with both hands. Blood quickly stains the brown paper and runs out from under it. You sit up completely and crawl back, away from him.

    “You- you fucking maniac! Did you actually just _kill_ me?!” you yell, your voice hoarse. Flug just whines miserably. A heartfelt laughter behind you makes you spin around. Blackhat is shaking from laughing so hard, doubled over, holding on to his top hat. When he rights himself up there’s a single tear in the corner of his eye and he wipes it away with one gloved finger, grinning widely at you.

    “Indeed my little thief. You died! And by _the hands_ _of **someone else no less!**_ ” He rasps out, his face splitting apart to reveal more teeth and eyes than ever before and you flinch away, remembering in a second of utmost panic that this had been the very condition for him to get your SOUL!

    “No!!” you scream at the top of your sore lungs and pull one of the throwing knives out from under your sleeves, slashing at Blackhat when he appears right in front of you. He catches the blade without even looking at it and crushes it in his hand, the monocle gleaming red.

   “ ** _And now…_** ” he growls, his teeth growing even bigger, green saliva frothing at the corners of his mouth that stretches open wider and wider until you can see that there's even teeth surrounding the inside of his throat. The hand that destroyed the knife wraps around yours in a bone-grinding grip, trapping you. You shake your head, still not wanting to believe that this is the end, this is how you’ll lose your soul to him! You had to fight! Fight back! But all you can do is close your eyes and-

“We’re even. My debt to you is paid.” He finishes, satisfied and entirely calm. You snap your eyes back open in surprise. Blackhat's face is completely normal again, no gaping maw to be seen. He shakes your hand once before letting it go and standing back up to smooth down his black coat. You remain on the floor, eyes wide and mouth standing open, your brain stumped in sudden confusion.

    “Wh- debt… I don’t…” you stammer and pull your hand back that’s still hovering in the air. Blackhat nudges his chin in your general direction, cocking a brow with a patronizing tut.

    “Last night? Don’t tell me you don’t remember, love.” He adds, shooting you a grin so dirty that it even stops Flug’s whimpering for a moment. You do remember, and when you have aligned the pieces you hurl your best curses left and right, punching the carpet with a fist.

    “Are you fucking kidding me?! You only brought me back from the dead to clear your debt from me saving you life!? Fuck!” You wheel around to Flug and raise your fist again in a threat. “This is on you, Flug! You ruined everything!”

    “Hyou boad dis ong gnursef!” he croaks back plaintively, holding his nose. “Oww! Hyou boag my gnoej!”

    “Go fuck yourself, Flug! Oh wait! You can’t, you don’t have a di-" The laser ray from his gun stops your conscious thoughts again, whiteness engulfing you as your head disintegrates, but this time you’re brought back a lot faster, under raucous laughter from Blackhat and Flug sputtering that he didn’t mean to do it again.

    “Mwahahahahar! Well done, Flug! Now _she_ owes _me_!” Blackhat cackles and you decide to finally keep your mouth shut. _I just died,_ you think, incredulous, _twice. And to_ Flug _. How pathetic is that?!_ But you don’t get to pity yourself for long: your boss kicks your side with the tip of his shoe, not exactly gentle. “Get up, you two have already wasted enough time as it is with your buffoonery! Flug, take her downstairs to shoot that blasted commercial already so I can finally make some actual money! And I won’t tolerate any interruptions until it’s finished and airing on the network feed.” With that Blackhat leaves by teleporting out of the lounge. It looks like he has fully recovered from Wingdings' attack while you were asleep, however he managed to do that. Your eyes dart to Flug who’s returning your glare. The entire front of his shirt and most of his coat is dark from the blood that’s still spurting out of his nose. You huff, annoyed, but move to stand and walk over to him, reaching out a hand.

    “Truce?” you growl. Flug snivels and promptly coughs up the blood he just inhaled, grabbing your hand with a sticky glove. You pull him to his feet and promptly wipe your hand on the pair of silk slacks. 

    “Foh gnow.” He grouses back and waves at you to follow him, muttering under his breath.

The way down inside the elevator is spent in awkward, tensed silence. Flug only speaks again once you’re past the lab, approaching yet another door across from the medical care room you haven’t been in up to now. It’s a vast hall, like the hangar, but filled with screens, cables and lots of technical equipment like lights, microphones and green screen-sheets. A desk with a computer and monitor is set up at the wall to the left from you, and a few feet in front of that you spot a heavy steel door set into the wall, leading God knows where.

“Waig ‘ere, I’ll kake care og my gnoej firge…. Gag hyou _boag_.” You roll your eyes at his leaving back and mutter some more curses once the door has slid shut. This day wasn’t just ruined already, it was a goddamn _disaster_! The only thing missing would he Dementia remembering that she had caught you sucking Blackhat’s-

    “H- hello? Who’s there? Is he gone?!” You almost jump out of your skin at the sudden, accented, somewhat _familiar_ voice of a man coming from the heavy door to the side. With your poor, overstrained heart pounding away, you sneak up to the door, readying a knife in each hand.

    “Who… are you? And yeah, he is.” You reply. The voice on the other side spits out a relieved sob.

    “Oh thank God! Please, you have to get me out of here! I haven’t seen my family in… I- I don’t even know how long haha… ha. They- they keep me hostage in here and make me narrate those stupid commercials and orientation videos for villains! And the scripts! Augh! So bad!” The guy behind the door is on a full blown rant now and you just listen, slowly putting the knives away again, recognizing his voice from the orientation video Flug made you watch. “Can you believe it? The _one_ time I answer a craigslist add! That crazy scientist thinks he’s sooo smart, but he’s just a twisted, mean little man who freezes me in liquid carbon for _fun_! Or leaves rotting corpses in here for _days_! And oh, oooh, don’t even get me started on that lovesick punk girl! Every shoot she messes around or blows something up and they have to do it all over! Heh, although, some- sometimes I’m glad I’m _behind_ this heavy, locked door!” He only stops in his rambling to take a shaking breath. You rub the back of your head.

    “Oof, wow. Okay, listen Mr.… Narrator? I’d love to help, but, see… I’m not exactly on good terms with the Doc myself right now… so… yeaah, sorry.” You hem and haw, quickly throwing a glance over your shoulder to see if Flug is already back. You really can’t afford to get into more trouble with him. A long, heavy sigh drifts through the door.

    “No, I understand. And I’d never make it out of here alive without knowing where exactly I am anyway. You sound like you’re in the same boat. Or, well, kind of. And please don’t call me Narrator, alright? My name is _Alan_.” He stresses. You smile.

    “Nice to meet ya, Alan, I’m ______. And yes, I’m kinda in the same boat. As in the MS. Can’t Leave Or I Get Murdered.” _But at least I get to go out once in a while. Hell, I can move freely around the mansion!_ , you think to yourself. “I’m supposed to shoot a… commercial or whatever.” You then add, just to keep talking. The poor guy must be extremely lonely in there. Alan snorts.

    “Oh, right, I got the script right here. It’s one of the better ones, actually. So you’re a… thief? And con-artist? Huh. Well at least you’re not another crazy killing-machine. You know, despite my situation I’m still confident I can make a big career once someone recognizes my talent in voice-acting! I could give you an example if you like, I’m pretty good at impersonating Lord Blackhat himself!”

Before you can politely but decidedly decline, the door to the studio opens and Flug shuffles back in, followed by Cambot, who stops dead in his tracks when he spots you and then the robot _cringes_ which you never even thought they could. You color immediately, remembering with dread what that poor thing had been forced to record barely a few nights ago. But then Flug is in front of you, so you can’t signal Cambot that you’re sorry he had to witness _that_. You hope you’ll get a moment alone with him so you can delete that video before anyone else sees it! Dementia for example!!

Flug has exchanged his bloodied paper bag for a fresh one, but his shirt and coat are still dirty. Yet he’s not outright bleeding to death anymore. _Bummer._ He shoves a stack of papers into your chest and snaps his fingers whereat Cambot comes stilting over to you.

    “Here’s the script for the shoot. Try to memorize what little lines you have, alright? I’ll be back as soon as I changed out of these.” He pointedly tugs on his bloodied shirt. You nod and wait until he’s out of the room again before you toss the script on a table to the side and turn to Cambot.

    “Cambot, buddy, I am so, so, _so_ sorry you had to-, I- I don’t even know what to say!” you hiss out under your breath so Alan doesn’t hear it. “Can you delete the video?!” The robot whirs lowly and shakes the camera that is his body. You groan, slapping a hand over your face. “Oh for fuck's… okay, is there a way I can… access your stored files and delete it myself?” Now Cambot hectically nods and promptly collapses his telescopic legs so you can get to the display on the side of the camera. When you wake it, it asks you for a password. “Uuughhhh!” you groan again, louder.

    “Hey, err, something wrong? Anything I can do to help?” Alan pipes in with a nervous chuckle and way too much enthusiasm for a guy that’s locked up with no way to see what’s going on. You glance to the door.

    “You wouldn’t happen to know the password to get into Cambot's hard drive?” you ask doubtfully. To your surprise the narrator utters an excited noise.

    “Oh, I- I do actually! It’s Flug’s birthday! Dementia mentioned that once! She always hacks in remotely to switch the feed to her Dementia Tips.” He exclaims, audibly happy to do something productive other than reading a script and being a prisoner.

    “Thanks, Alan! You just saved me a whole lotta sleepless nights.” Then you pause. “And… when is his birthday?”

Silence. Your smile drops. “Lemme guess… Dementia didn’t mention _that_.”

    “Oh, she did! She did… but I can’t remember!” He sounds close to hysterical now, a mixture of giggling and sobbing coming through the door.

    “Hey, hey, it’s okay, Alan. I’ll figure it out. I bet 5.0.5 can tell me! Thank you.” You immediately console him, feeling bad that you currently can’t do anything to help him. Suddenly he mumbles something you don’t really catch and say: “What was that?”

    “I… can you… can you say that again?” he sounds miserable, and it’s pulling right on your heartstrings! You step up to the door.

    “It’s going to be okay, Alan. And I don’t know how or when, but I will try to get you out of here, alright?”

    “Alright.” He chokes out through a lot of suppressed sobs and hiccups. “Thank you, ______, you’re a good person.”

You promptly flinch away.

    “Uh, right, you might want to _not_ say that when Flug or Dem are around. Oh God, and especially not around Blackhat!”

    “Right, right, of course!” Alan hurries to reply. You pat the door and walk back over to where you dropped the script on the table, picking it up to skim the lines when your eyes fall on what else is lying there for your shoot. You freeze.

    “Oh no. Absolutely not! _FLUG_!” As if on cue he enters right when you scream his name, furrowing his brows behind the goggles.

    “What?!” He snaps back. You point to what you can only assume to be the outfit you’re supposed to wear for the shoot.

    “Not. Fucking. Happening!” you grind out, trying your hardest not to yell again. Flug raises his hands and gripes: “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t know you got promoted to be the director around here! I made that suit and you’re going to wear it, or...” He pulls out the collar once more. You scoff and cross your arms.

    “This again? Just so you know I will definitely go for the gun first this time. That or your _nose_ , whatever I feel more like.”

    “______, get in the damn suit!” Flug suddenly yells, his voice cracking. You point at it again as though it were the source of all your suffering. Which it kinda is. In a metaphorical sense.

    “No!” you shout back, infuriated and insulted. “It’s _Spandex_! Spandex is for stupid heroes who don’t give a shit about sweating their ass off! And it’s colored! Purple! I hate that color! Also, the fuck kinda thief wears anything other than _black_ , huh?! I already have an outfit for crying out loud! Let me get my jacket!” Flug shakes his head resolutely and crosses his arms.

    “Absolutely not! You need to look _professional_! We run a reputable business!”

You decide not to comment on that. Instead you exhale forcefully and run your hands over your face.

    “Then at least get me a black suit? Please? And… actually I really do need the jacket, because Lord Blackhat personally gave me a special mask I’m supposed to wear so nobody sees my face. I’m sure you understand.” You add cynically with an innocent smile, knowing exactly that this is most likely yet another blow to his ego since you had gotten an actual cool mask and he was forced to wear those ridiculous paper bags. Flug groans and facepalms, crying out in pain when his hand brushes against his broken nose.

    “Stay. Here. I’ll get it. Learn the script!” he hisses and leaves again, the door sliding shut behind him and locking itself with a snap. Your violent energy seeks itself the next best outlet and you kick at a chair, sending it crashing into the nearest wall.

     “Mondays, am I right?” Alan blurts out with another awkward laugh. You ball your hands into tight fists, grinding your teeth to not explode.

     “It’s _Sunday_.” You spit out, bitter.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trans men are superior cuz they ain’t got no weak point! Not meant to bash any cis men, yall are cute, too, but even my tiny ass can pretty much render you immobile with a well placed knee-to-the-groin ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
>  Also what the hell is craigslist?? And why is it so bad? America explain!! Anyway, Alan’s in the story now, too, I guess🤣
> 
> **Next Update on the 19th of January!**


	36. Crazy = Genius

_Out of the blue the room is filled with a rapid chiming that won’t stop. Flug rubs his burning throat and looks over to the laptop. When his eyes have scanned the incoming message his mouth falls open._

 

 

### 36\. Crazy = Genius

 

 

    “No, no, no!” Flug yells and claps into his hands. “Cut!” Up in the air you groan and slump where you’re hanging from the rope. By now your muscles are even sorer than they ever were the entire week you’ve been here.

    “Why?! I thought you wanted me to just come sliding down this thing!” you complain, hooking your feet around the rope to relieve your burning arms for a second. Flug makes a see-saw motion with his hand.

    “Yes but… a little slower, and you didn’t look at the camera again! One more time, from the top.”

It remains a mystery why the hell it matters if you look into the camera or not, when your face isn’t even _visible_!

    “You know,” you pant out and pull yourself back up again, your biceps shrieking in protest, “why can’t we try out a few other shots first? I have a pretty cool idea for a splash intro, like, mid-air vault, lifting my mask a little for a charming smirk-"

    “We only have today, we can’t waste time with stuff that’s not in the script or the boss will have both our heads for lunch, and I do mean that in a literal sense! Okay, and… action!”

Thankfully this time you get it right, even though the evil scientist still mutters to himself as he reviews the footage. You flop down on the floor, massaging your arms. No fricking heist in your life had ever been this exhausting! This was torture! And Alan had been right: the script was shit. The lines were cheesy and cringeworthy, so cliché you felt embarrassed at yourself for saying them out loud. Your hands are on fire from sliding down the rope a dozen times, even despite the gloves Flug gave you, begrudgingly, without failing to mention the one you lost yet again.

    “Hey, uh, can I take five maybe? We’ve been at this all morning.” you wheeze out. Flug sighs in irritation but waves his hand around.

    “Fine, I have to get my finished report about the strange spear you took to Lord Blackhat anyway.” You decide to not remind him that the boss said no interruptions until the commercial was airing, and instead listen to the sound of his fading footsteps, followed by the door opening and closing behind him. Then you grin to yourself in malicious glee.

    “Oh boy…” Alan comments, muffled by his cell door. “He really has it out for you, huh?”

You utter a weak laugh.

    “The entire universe has it out for me apparently.”

    “Heh, I know the feeling.” He returns.

You suck on your lip, thinking. Could you trust him enough to tell him about what had happened to you? Minus the whole banging-the-boss thing of course! It would be a weight off your chest to talk to someone in a somewhat similar situation about all the crazy shit in your recent life for once without running the risk of getting snitched on or straight up murdered. And since there was still no word from Vijay… But before you can decide the door opens again and you groan: “Come on doc I said five minutes-"

    “Ooohh!” comes Dementia’s excited gasp. “Are you shooting a video? Can I be in it, too!?”

Your body shoots up so abruptly that you feel lightheaded, panic seizing your brain for a terrifying second. But when she just skips over to you with a beaming grin, you relax a little. So Blackhat had really erased all her memories of last night.

    “Hey, Dee.” You greet her and get up on your feet. Meanwhile she’s already busy stuffing crinkled, colorful papers under Alan’s door, banging her fist against it.

    “Yo narrator, I got the perfect scripts for my next Dementia Tips! Even better than the last ones!” she hollers, ignoring the heated curses in – surprisingly – Spanish that follow. You make a face and walk over to her.

    “You know, I’d love to shoot a clip with you, but I don’t think Flug is gonna be all too happy about it.” She snorts at that and straightens herself, throwing the green mass of hair back over her shoulder.

    “Come on, what’s he gonna do? I do that all the time!” she sneers. You shoot her a blank look.

    “Well, he already _killed_ me this morning. Literally. Because I lost a _glove_!” Now she laughs out louder.

    “Yeah right! Hellooo? You’re clearly alive right now.” A gasp. “Or are you a ghost now? Lemme punch you to find out!”

    “No, Dem, no punching!” you warn her. “I’m not kidding. Blackhat brought me back from the dead… and now I owe him ag-, uh, even _more_ than already. I gotta shoot a commercial so villains hire me for money.” Dementia’s bored expression swiftly changes into a suspicious frown and you see one corner of her mouth lifting into a snarl.

    “For what? Are you trying to take my place?! Take all the glory and Blackhat’s praise, huh?!” You quickly raise your hands and wave them around. Oh God there really was no normal conversation with her.

    “Are you kidding? I could never replace _you_! Naah, I’m lucky enough if I get any assignments at all. Plus, I’m only going to do shit like stealing stuff.”

Her eyes narrow deeper.

    “I do that, too. And I bet I do it better than you!” You don’t rise to the challenge this time, wiser as you are, and just shrug.

    “But you’re mostly doing the _hard_ work around here, shit nobody else can do. There’s no way Blackhat could ever replace you for someone else.”

    “Aww, you dork, you really think that?” she coos, abandoning her battle-ready crouch. You nod, you really don’t think there’s anybody else crazy enough out there to take her place. “So how _did_ Flug kill you, anyway? Ahahaha, wait, did he _explain_ you to death?” she dissolves into more cackling and you snort despite the horrible occurrences this morning.

    “Fortunately not. No, first he electrocuted me and then he shot me in the head with his laser gun.” Dementia makes a face.

    “Ouch? What was it like? Dying. Did you feel your head exploding!?” Now you do shudder, a cold feeling traveling down your spine.

    “No, but it was… _weird_. There really is a white light when you go out and then… nothing. But then I heard these voices, yet… they weren’t _exactly_ voices more like thoughts or-"

    “Meh, lame. Okay, let’s shoot that commercial already! I have a ton of ideas!” she interrupts you and already whistles for Cambot, who greets her surprisingly happy. You snort and shrug. _Why the hell not. It’s not like this day can get any worse._

    “Alright, I’m game. What did you have in mind?”

Dementia turns towards you with a wide, fanged grin.

    “Explosions.”

 

-

 

The last bomb detonates right underneath you as you’re mid-air, sailing from the rope towards the camera, accompanied by another sick riff from Dem's guitar that’s blasting so loud through the speakers it almost drowns out the detonation. You’re grinning hard under the mask, so much so that your face feels like it’s splitting apart! The shockwave catches up to you, pushing you away from your targeted landing point, a cushioned mat, but you quickly tuck your head and feet in and roll over the floor instead. Dementia ends her solo as the cloud of smoke disperses and you break out into a hoarse shout of joy, punching the air.

    “That was amazing!!” you yell and jump back to your feet. She slams out a few more shrieking notes for good measure, laughing maniacally. You try to catch your breath. “Hey, did we get that shot, Cambot?” The camera nods at you, lifting one leg to give you a claw-up. “Nice!” Then you pause and throw a glance at Dem, sensing a chance. “Hey, uh, you wouldn’t happen to know the password for the cambot, would you?” She doesn’t look up from her guitar but nods her head.

    “Oh, sure, it’s Flug’s birthday.” You try to sound surprised.

    “Huh, really? What’s that?” While you ask, you already beckon Cambot closer with a finger.

    “23rd of August.”

With your heart pounding you punch in the numbers, quickly orientate yourself in the following menu and scroll backwards through the video files, first the ones you just took, then the shots Flug had done before, until you come across one dark thumbnail standing out from everything else and a flash of embarrassed heat shoots up your body. There it was! You try to click on it to delete the video, but that starts the clip and you barely manage to quiet a startled scream before you can stop it again and push the right button to ultimately delete it. The amount of relief you feel when the little rectangle with Blackhat’s grin flies into the trashcan is immeasurable.

“Oh, are you already putting the clips together?” Dementia suddenly chimes right behind you and you flinch away, placing a hand over your heart.

    “Jesus! Don’t scare me like that! Uh, right, I was but I don’t really know how.” You say back and step aside to let her mess with the bot. Dementia hooks Cambot up to the computer on the desk and hops on a chair, with her feet on the seat, blowing a huge bubble of her gum, humming a tune, her fingers flying over the keyboard. You’re surprised to see that she’s apparently so well versed with working on computers. Not exactly what you had expected from her of all people. Then again, you know she owns a smartphone. You pull up a second chair and slump down, stretching your aching limbs, watching Dementia cutting the clips and putting them together. It still needed the voiced lines from Alan, but the finished video already looks and sounds a lot better than whatever Flug has had in mind for this commercial. Especially that last jump looks absolutely rad, and she slows it down for extra coolness. You nod in approval and laugh.

    “Shit, Dem! That looks amazing!”

    “What in Oppenheimer’s name is going on here?!” Flug’s voice suddenly comes shrieking from the door. You flinch on your seat, feeling caught. Dementia however is unimpressed by his outrage and pops her bubble.

    “Oh hey, Flug. I just did _your_ job, like always.” She returns cattily but doesn’t look up from the monitor. You take heart from her boldness and turn towards him. He looks pretty messed up, fresh blood spatters on his coat, so maybe Blackhat had actually punished him for daring to disturb his Lordship before the video was done. You smirk in mean satisfaction.

    “Yeah, what took you so long? It’s almost past noon, you were gone for over an hour.”

Flug’s anger loses a bit of its momentum but then he stomps his foot on the floor and points to the door.

    “Dementia: out! And you…. You better get back up there or-"

    “Or what, little man?” you growl and push the chair back with a shrill squeak. With a few strides you’re up in his face, even though he’s taller than you. “You’re gonna shoot me again? Go on. I think we both know you’d be doing me a favor. If I even give you a chance this time.”

    “Doc, no offense, but your script _was_ kinda lame.” Alan throws in from the safety of his steel-door and the scientist wheels around to it.

    “One more word from you and you’re going back into cryo-storage for another week!” he yells. A hysteric cackle comes through the door.

    “Finally! I could use some sleep!”

Dementia hoots, still gargoyle-hunched over the keyboard.

    “Rock on, narrator! Stick it to the man!”

Realizing the entire room is against him, Flug deflates in visible fatigue, most likely exhausted by whatever Blackhat did to him this time. You take a step back and nudge your head towards the desk.

    “Come on, Flug, check it out. It’s actually really good.”

    “B- but you didn’t have a script or a plan and- and-" he starts to take rapid, shallow breaths and now you do feel a tiny bit bad. But before you can figure out what to say, Dementia clacks her tongue.

    “Flug,” she sings out, “remember what the doctor said about your heart. Calm breaths, repeat your mantra, go to your happy place, blahblah. It’s gonna be fine, nerd.”

    “That’s easy for you to say you maniac!” he wheezes out. “You may enjoy the punishment, but when Lord Blackhat finds out-" his words falter at the sudden shockwave dispersing the air around the two of you, revealing the tall and dark frame of your boss. Blackhat turns to Flug, arching an eyebrow.

    “And what, exactly, will I find out doctor?” he rasps menacingly. Flug looks like he’s seconds from getting a stroke and you decide to come to his aid, just so he’d be in your debt again. As a precaution, you wrap your hand around his skinny wrist, covering the lie-detecting watch.

    “That I haven’t yet decided on a name to use for myself. You know, my villain-alias?” you lie, noticing with a lick of unease how he narrows his eye at you in suspicion, and hesitate. “I… was thinking of Ghost?” Blackhat promptly scrunches up the skin over his mouth.

    “A bit too on the nose, don’t you think? You were supposed to go with CAT. Certified Assassin and Thief.” He says in turn, making you raise your brows now.

    “ _Certified_?” you echo, while Dementia all but yells “ _Assassin_?!” in indignation. Your boss scowls at both of you. Then he looks at Flug again, who flinches now that he’s the center of his horrible attention once more.

    “Show me the video. Surely you’re already done with how much time I allowed you to waste on it.” Blackhat grinds out, already making his way to the desk in a smooth, entirely unnatural motion. Flug hurries to be there before him and shoves Dementia and her desk chair out of the way, his hands shaking in mortal fear. You cross your arms in silent gratification. If Dementia hadn’t shown up and single handedly shot and edited the entire commercial for him, the good doctor would have been in big, big trouble. Now he owed you double.

    “O- of c- course, b- boss…” he squeaks, sinking down on the second chair and pressing the playback button with his eyes closed tightly behind the glasses. The roaring intro-sound of Dem's guitar fills the hall, followed by the first explosion and one of your knives flying at the camera out of the smoke. You wince a little. That knife had almost landed right in Cambot’s lens if the robot hadn’t flinched but with all that smoke it had been pretty hard to see. The guitar riff transitions into a film noir-esque bass pluck, as you swing down from the metal framework head first and drop lithely into a deep crouch, turning around with more knives between your knuckles. The scene switches and shows you with the side of your hood pressed against the door of a safe, turning the lock until it snaps open and you pull the door back with a thumbs up, revealing a bunch of golden trophies and plane-models Dem had taken out of Flug’s office as props. The evil scientist quickly wheels around to her with his hands raised in a silent _What the Fuck?!_

Blackhat doesn’t seem to notice his engineer’s outrage, his single eye remains fixed on the screen, face unmoved save for the usual frown. Dementia slowly creeps closer and closer to the boss, ignoring Flug as well, her cheeks blushing hard with each inch she gains on her _hubby_ without getting noticed and possibly kicked. You roll your eyes and focus back on the clip, grinning. The video was even better than you would have thought! Even though the three explosions were more Dementia’s style than really yours.

When the clip is over you still hold your breath all the same, glancing towards Blackhat. Flug has covered his paper bag with his hands at this point while Dem managed to sneak up all the way to the boss, a dopey smile on her face. Oh boy, so it’s up to you to rescue this joint operation, huh?

    “Well, we still need the voice-over from Alan, but then it should be… all good to go?” you say, taking a cautionary step back when Blackhat turns around with a sudden grin.

    “I think I should do the honor, no need to trouble our esteemed guest.” He saunters up to the door and knocks on it with his summoned black cane. “ _Dígame, buen señor: ¿sigue disfrutando de su estancia con nosotros? Espero que todo sea de su agrado, como se indica en su contrato, que todavía es válido por otros cien años. Mwahahaha!”_

Your mouth falls open when Blackhat smoothly launches into Spanish to address Alan, who sobs out a frantic string of words that make your boss laugh even louder. Dementia sighs next to you.

    “I love it when he talks like that… so hot! It’s like I’m melting.” For once you can’t say anything against her. The forceful way with which he pronounces the foreign words in his eldritch accent, each syllable husky and yet melodic, the _r_ virtually rolling off his serpent tongue- _She is right…_ , you think, despairing. _It_ is _hot!_

He listens to the narrator’s choked pleas and chuckles again, placing a hand on his chest.

    _“Oh, por favor, soy un hombre de palabra, Alan. Dije que lo haría famoso, y lo haré. Pero todo a su debido tiempo. Primero tendrá que trabajar un poco más para mi organización. Cuáles son algunas palabras más para **fama más allá de sus sueños más salvajes?** ”_

_I have no idea what he’s saying… but I sure hope he doesn’t do that the next time he wants me to let him get to my SOUL because, good God, I am not immune against this!! This is not okay!_

Blackhat abruptly turns back around to you, underlined by a shrill gasp from Dementia. “The video is mediocre at best and it’s not even close to its best. Yet. I will shoot the introduction and voice over in the screen office. Flug, move your useless carcass, we’re losing daylight!” Flug, utterly relieved that he didn’t get his entrails introduced to the outside world, follows Blackhat on the heel, whistling for Cambot to come with them. Suddenly something that’s been bothering you all day finally clicks into place and you take in a shocked breath.

    “Boss, wait a second!” you blurt out and he throws you a glare over his shoulder. “What about my gang?! If they see this commercial my old boss will know that I survived!” Blackhat raises a brow.

    “That’s what the mask is for, isn’t it?” he rasps impatiently. You shake your head.

    “He _will_ know it’s me. He watched me grow up the last twenty years, he’d recognize me in any disguise, just by the way I move or stand! And since I’m wearing my jacket in the video…” you already fear he’s going to rip you to shreds for being so stupid the way he stares at you, but then Blackhat shrugs and snaps his fingers at Flug.

    “Then we will simply exclude the new commercial from your world’s feed. I hate to lose a possible source of income but it would be much more tiresome to have this blasted clip redone.” And with that, he stalks off, Flug hurrying after him while typing on his handheld device. You watch them leave with a huge sigh and then nudge Dementia in the side.

    “C'mon, I’m starving after this. Let’s raid the kitchen and get some pancakes, huh?” She needs another bump to snap out of her dazed pining and nods at you. “And thanks for helping me with the shoot, that was fun! We really should get out together sometime.”

Dem heads out first to put the guitar back inside her room, and you hesitate in front of Alan’s door. After a quick glance to check the exit you hunker down in front of it and examine the hefty lock. It’s like nothing you’ve ever come across so far, so maybe one of Flug’s own design. No getting through with regular old lock picks. You’re going to need a copy of the key itself. “Hey,” you mumble, hoping he can hear you, “are you okay?”

Alan snivels and clears his throat.

    “I- I’ll be fine. Thank you, ______. Just…” he falls silent and you knock softly against the door to keep him talking. “P- promise you will try? Getting me out?” It pains you to burst his bubble, but he needs to see the reality of this situation.

    “And then what? Do you honestly think he won’t know where to find you? That’s the only reason I’m still here.” Silence. “But,” you continue, “I promise I will try to get you some freedom around here, alright? I don’t know how I’m gonna do that but I will try.”

    “ _Gracias._ ”

 

-

 

    “Greetings, all you depraved, heartless entities of malevolence! This is Blackhat again, bringing you yet another exciting addition to the services of Black Hat Organization!”

Flug activates the many screens around his boss, displaying riches, artifacts and other desirable objects, while Blackhat moves the hand he has raised around in an elegant arch to encompass the switching images. “Aren’t you frustrated that all those riches and forbidden artifacts you want to obtain are always so heavily guarded by heroes, safes and traps? And that you spend endless amounts of time and resources just to get through their security measures only to fail over and over and _over_ again because you are all _imbeciles who are simply not cut out for this **delicate work of skill and cunning?**_ Well, now you can rest easy! For the first time, Black Hat Organization offers the exclusive services of a professional thief and con-artist, hand-picked by non other than me, Lord Blackhat, to steal whatever it is you desire!” On a silent command Flug switches the video feed to the clip you shot with Dementia, muting its ear-splitting volume when Blackhat gives him a glare.

“Not only is this thief the very best of their trade, trained by me and whipped into unconditional obedience, they also don’t require any support or additional equipment since each heist will be individually prepared and meticulously planned to your specific needs by our own department of strategies for villains.” Flug edits in a still-image of himself, presenting a flip-chart with how a basic plan for a successful evil strategy is usually construed and then cuts back to Blackhat, who finishes the commercial with the usual disclaimers for payments, terrible threats and persuasive promises, before the contact information for the thief's services are edited in.

    “Aaaand… cut! Flawless as always, boss. I will start streaming it into the feed immediately.” Flug announces and turns away to pack his things up. Blackhat rises smoothly from the chair and adjusts his tie, a wide grin resting on the scientist’s back who tries to suppress a shiver as the sensation raises the hairs on his neck.

    “Tell me, Flug…” he rasps, his dress shoes soundless on the hardwood floor but Flug can sense his movements by the way the cold aura of dread shifts around him. “What went through your head when you killed our thief? Satisfaction? Relief? Or… pleasure perhaps?” Flug tenses and hikes up his slim shoulders, clutching the handheld device he used to control the screens. Blackhat is right behind him now, the foul stench from behind the huge teeth hot in the nape of his neck. For a second he desperately wants to check if the paper bag is still on his head but then his boss continues, Flug’s movements freezing in self-preservation. “Or maybe it was not even her you saw yourself torturing and killing. So tell me, my good Doctor: _what was going on in that twisted little head of yours_?!” It’s a command he knows he cannot refuse, so Flug clenches his eyes shut and tries not to whimper out his reply.

    “I thought about killing _him_ , yes. But, I- I really did not mean to kill her, only… I felt so angry, so-"

Blackhat laughs raucously and Flug finally finds the strength to turn around to his horrible boss.

    “But of course you did, Flug! Otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten rid of my debt so easily.” He shoots him a smug look, and now Flug understands, almost slapping a hand over his forehead again before he remembers his broken nose and stops his own hand.

    “That- you manipulated me with the sins again, didn’t you, sir?” he sighs and looks down on his hands. “I really should have known.”

    “Indeed.” Blackhat harrumphs. Then Flug throws him a scrutinizing glare from behind thick glasses and cocks a brow.

    “May I ask how exactly you came to owe her this big in the first place, boss? Reviving someone instead of just harvesting their soul _is_ unusual for you.” Blackhat’s single eye widens at this audacity. “And how come you haven’t already taken her soul like you did with literally anyone who ever signed a contract with you?!” Flug carries on, his own irritation and curiosity now bigger than his fear. Blackhat scowls at him and crosses his hands on his back, circling the scientist.

    “You should be glad I’m more impressed by your boldness, Flug, than I am infuriated by you asking questions that are none of your concern. But, since you helped me out of this more than bothersome position, I shall overlook this impertinence. I can not take her soul that easily, in fact it is the first one strong enough to resist me. And yet it has so much untapped potential to grow even darker that I can’t quite bring myself to kill her now in order to have it sooner.”

Flug turns away at Blackhat’s reverent tone, feeling his face growing hot under the bag in-

“Now, don’t tell me you’re jealous, Flug.” He chuckles lowly and Flug spins back towards him, crossing his arms.

    “I’m not jealous!” he denies with cracking voice. “Lie-detected!” his watch cries out. Blackhat shoots him a vile grin.

    “Oh, my dear Dr. Flugslys, is that it? You are feeling left out? Why, you only needed to say a word…” A black tendril separates from Blackhat’s shadow to curl up and around Flug’s waist, quickly disappearing under his shirt but the scientist frees himself from the appendage as if it had burned his skin.

    “I- I just don’t think we should trust her!” he quickly blurts out in his defense, his voice too high. He hates that it still does that. Blackhat clucks his serpent tongue.

    “I don’t trust anyone, Flug, and neither should you; rule number two! But I _trust_ that she is prepared to do everything it takes to prolong her existence and ultimately reach her goal of killing her former boss. That is something I find _you_ lacking. How are your plans coming along to vanquish the hero that stands in your way, hm?” Flug flinches, caught, and moves away from Blackhat, whose grin is so wide now that it takes up almost all of his ashen face, the single eye gleaming dangerously, its lance-shaped pupil split into three. “I won’t tolerate your _bitching_ while you are still not a single step closer to completing your personal vendetta that you begged me to help you with! Well? Tell me what grand scheme you’ve come up with after all those years, to kill this blasted hero once and for all!”

    “I-, well, you see-" Flug stammers, but stops, unable to come up with something on the fly. His shoulders fall in defeat. “I… still need more time. He- he’s the strongest of all the heroes, we- we can’t underestimate him-" Blackhat raises his head with a disdainful huff.

    “Pathetic. The same excuse as last time, Flug. Maybe you need something to motivate you… say, where _is_ that walking, blue failure, I haven’t seen him all day. Surely with him gone you would have more time to finally focus on your work!” The panic on Flug’s face turns into a brief flash of anger.

    “Stay the hell away from him, he has just as much of a right to be here as this walking caricature of yourself you still allow to breathe!”

It stays dead silent for a moment while Blackhat blinks at Flug in surprise. This was… new? But then Flug realizes what he just did and shrinks away, already raising his hands in defense, begging. Blackhat growls.

     “I thought you had quite enough punishment for today, but it would seem I wasn’t as thorough with you as I ought have been. Maybe I am getting old.” He raises his glowing hand and Flug sucks in a quick breath before the painful chokehold shuts his windpipe, strangling him until he’s seeing black spots dancing in front of his eyes. Suddenly the deadly tension is disrupted by a high chime from Flug’s laptop, indicating a new job request. Blackhat glances at the screen but doesn’t let go of him while doing so. Flug claws at nothing around his neck, fruitlessly trying to relieve his throat. Then another ping. And another. Out of the blue the room is filled with a rapid chiming that won’t seize and now, finally, Lord Blackhat releases Flug’s chicken-neck and turns to the annoying device, his brows rising and a pleased smirk curling his lips not a second later. Flug rubs his burning throat and looks over to it as well. When his teary eyes have quickly scanned the incoming messages his mouth falls open underneath the paper bag.

    “Looks like someone just earned their right to continue breathing.” Blackhat rasps but Flug isn’t exactly sure if the boss is talking about you or him. “Prepare everything for the next phase. We don’t have much time before the congregation and I need this to go over smoothly.”

    “R- right away, sir.”

 

-

 

    “That guy’s gonna die next.” You predict and throw another kernel of popcorn into your mouth with a solemn nod. Dementia puffs snidely.

    “No way! The chick’s gonna get it first!” She disagrees with a mean snicker and stops braiding her hair for a second to closely observe the TV screen. Jason jumps down from the roof and cuts the college jock straight in half with his machete, causing Dementia to groan at the fake gore splattering over the camera. Meanwhile the college chick runs away into the woods, screaming. “Oh come on, that’s stupid! She was right there!” You laugh and pat her shoulder.

    “Sorry, Dee. You’re losing!” She shoots you a murderous glare that you take with a shrug, offering her the bowl. She holds out the open braid to you in turn and you finish it while she stuffs her face with popcorn. After raiding the kitchen you had let her talk you into finally finishing her splatter-film marathon. So now you’re chilling with her in the TV room, still in that awful spandex suit and your jacket, but it was nice to just laze around for a change. The movie continues, the girl has reached the lake by now. You don’t even know this movie, since it’s an alternate-reality-version of Friday the 13th, but it’s not half bad and apparently the same movie-rules apply to this dimension. “Yep, she’s the final girl!”

    “Huh? The final wha-" Suddenly the screen switches off with a high snap and the crackle of static, and the room slips into darkness.

    “Hey, what the hell?!” you yell and feel around for the remote. But before you can find it the TV turns itself back on, showing the mist-covered lake. There’s no sound, not even the crackling of the TV.  

    “What, where’d the girl go?” Dementia asks confused, hugging the bowl to her chest. “Aww man did we miss the ending?”

You narrow your eyes at the screen. The lake is lying in darkness, completely still. In fact, nothing seems to be moving!

    “I don’t think so… I think the movie froze?” You both slowly get up to check the player and hunker down in front of the TV stand. When you touch it, your hand shoots back. “Ew what- it’s _wet_. Why is it-"

The entire screen explodes in a sickening display of tentacles and teeth that erupt from the lake, the sudden roar of a huge monster so loud in your ears you jump away with a scream and pull Dementia back with you when one of the slimy arms reaches out through the TV screen and floods the carpet with more water, making a grab for you. Another giant tentacle swipes through the room, smashing the sofa table. “Oh fuck!” you cry out. “Kill it, Dementia, kill it!” She jumps to her feet and evades the curling tentacles with impressive agility, jumping and diving over and under them, until she’s at the door.

    “Fuck that! Kill it yourself, I don’t wanna get munched by a horrible lake-monster. Good luck, ______!” And with that she's out and slams the door shut. You scream in outrage and roll away to avoid the tendril searching around for you.

    “You bitch, get back here! Dementia! Don’t you dare leave me with the demonic TV! Augh! I hate this haunted-ass mansion!” You jump to the side, kicking off from the wall to cross the room and get to the door, your hand closing around the cold brass of the knob. But then one of the wet arms wraps around your ankle and yanks you down, over the floor and up into the air, twisting you around. The screens at the back of the room come to life, revealing Lord Blackhat who’s grinning at you upside down in glee. You slump in the tentacle’s clutch and scowl at him. “Of course.” you grouse.

Blackhat’s grin widens and a thread of drool runs from his teeth. The glare he regards you with is one of manic excitement.

    “Look slippery*, my dear _Ghost_ , and lick yourself into shape** – you’ve got work!” he announces.

 

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"Part of the Crew..."

 

*Look slippery (victorian): Hurry up, be quick, from the association of slipperiness and speed.

**Lick into shape (victorian): To get ready.

 

Blackhat's Spanish dialogue:

"Tell me, good sir: are you still enjoying your stay with us? I hope that everything is to your liking, as indicated in your contract, which is still valid for another hundred years."

"Oh please, I'm a man of my word, Alan. I said I would make you famous, and I will. But all in due time. First you will have to work a little more for my organization. What are some more words for fame beyond your wildest dreams?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah finally I could let Blackhat speak Spanish in this fic!! A friend of mine checked it and it should be correct, but please tell me if this could have been phrased more elegantly!!
> 
> Sooo, Flug has a hero that bothers him, huh? And let's all remember that Flug is from the same dimension as you are! But before we even get close to dealing with that, you're going to have to survive your first actual work in the BHO!! We shall see how that turns out...
> 
>  **Next update on the 26th of January!** It's my Mom's birthday on that weekend, so I hope I manage to get it up in time for you! Thank you all so much for your continued support, I love you so much!


	37. Show and Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earlier update than normally because I gotta prepare shit for me mum's birthday, cheers lads!

_You immediately turn away, when the door opens and his hand curls over your shoulder. You’re spun around and pushed against the door, now inside his office. Blackhat looks down on you with a frown._

_“You come bothering me for that in the middle of the night?”_

 

 

### 37\. Show and Tell

 

 

    “Not only is this thief the very best of their trade, trained by me and whipped into unconditional obedience, they also don’t require any support or additional equipment since each heist will be individually prepared and meticulously planned to your specific needs by our own department of strategies for villains.” Tango shivers at the rasping, unearthly voice coming from the speakers, and that will forever haunt her in her worst nightmares. The voice that had already killed so many of her fellow agents, her friends, her _family_. And the man himself… - if he even was a man at all – could only be described as monstrous, with those teeth and that eye-

    “I can’t watch this, sorry.” She mutters and pushes the chair away from her so abruptly it crashes to the floor, the sudden noise rattling in the dark room. Waltz flinches in the corner of her eye but she is already out the door and sinks with weak knees against the wall, her breath haunted and painful. A frantic sob is trying to escape her throat but then the door opens again and Happy's hand wraps gently around her arm. She tucks her head in and avoids the intense look from his steel-grey eyes. “I’m sorry Happy, just- hearing this voice again after what happened to Ballet, I-, it…”

He hushes her and pulls her from the wall into his arms.

    “It’s okay, T, I know how you feel. We all do.” He rounds in his deep voice, hoarse from the countless nights on freezing rooftops, eyes strained looking for the enemy. She chokes out a sad laugh.

    “Yeah but… I’ve only been in this team for a year now. Waltz and you, you’ve lost so-" – “Don’t, Tango. Don’t compare your grief to ours. Nobody should lose people close to them. Now come back in, I feel like there’s a real lead just waiting for us.” Agent Tango shuts up, nods and allows her partner to open the door to the small conference room for her, where Waltz has turned the lights back on and the video feed is paused at another scene from the latest commercial of the nefarious Black Hat Organization they were hunting. In the back corner with the computer desk, Melbourne Shuffle sits hunched over his keyboard, the snapback cap turned around so he can work on the monitor and enhance the still image. Waltz walks over to her, his weather-beaten face even more crumpled in concern than usually.

    “You gonna be okay, kid?” he asks and she snaps back to her straight posture, giving him a sharp nod.

    “Of course, captain.” He smiles crookedly at her officious tone she still couldn't bring herself to drop in his presence. Actually he could only smile like that, ever since a villainess named Pokerface had cut his face up from his nose down to the jawline, leaving the right side of his mouth paralyzed.

   “Aight, then take a seat. I think we got something big here. These monsters done shoveled their own grave this time. I feel it.” Waltz walks over to the screen and waits until both Tango and Happy Feet have taken their seats and Melbourne is all set. “The Hat has a new underling it would seem.” He begins, pointing to the still image where a hooded, masked figure in black spandex and a leather jacket is caught in a mid-air jump, one hand lifting the white mask with the black, v-shaped visor just enough to make out the allusion of a grin beneath. Waltz narrows his eyes at the image and then turns to his agents.

“What can you tell me about them?”

    “Clearly human.” Comes Tango's tensed voice. “We can’t be sure if they got altered like Punk or not, though. There’s a pretty distinctive scar on their jaw, we should check if it matches anyone in the database. Melbourne?” The young agent grunts.

    “On it, T. Any idea what age to focus on?”

    “Younger than thirty.”

Waltz and Tango turn to Happy Feet in unison, taken aback by his sudden interjection.

    “How can you tell?” she asks, incredulous. He nods his chin at the masked thief.

    “Come on, look at the part of the face we can see under that mask. Lines around the mouth are virtually non-existent; and look at the skin on their knuckles. Calloused, yes but still too smooth, too young. Also I’m pretty sure we’re dealing with a female villain. Even though that leather jacket hides a lot of the proportions, the pose and face give it away. At least… uh, to me.” He closes, a bit sheepishly, returning the wide-eyed looks from his fellow agents. Waltz nods slowly and turns around to the image.

    “Shit, son, you’re right. Okay. The commercial introduced her as Ghost, so let’s go with that for now.” He points at Melbourne and the young computer specialist hacks away on his keyboard. The still image shrinks and moves away into a corner to make room for more pictures they had taken on the scene of the museum heist two nights ago. “She worked alongside Void to obtain the Bracelet of Hermes, so the Hat has already put her to work before deciding to offer her services to his villain network, which was why we didn’t know Void would have her as backup. Was it a test run? We think so, considering what she left behind on accident, as it was not a bomb or a bugged object.” He points at the glove lying next to the shattered glass case.

    “The glove is the only piece of intact technology we were ever able to retrieve from codename Paperhat.” Tango explains. “We found fingerprints in it as well as skin cells, but the lab results are still in the work. This is huge, chief.”

    “I agree, Tango. That thief is young, but clearly not inexperienced if she managed to get herself and Void out of there before we could arrive, and considering how quickly she got integrated into the organization’s inner circle, it likely means the Hat has big things planned for her if she gets elevated to the same level as Punk right away. Remember, we knew about Void and his abilities for almost ten years before he actually showed up in relation to the BHO. So we need to be careful when dealing with her. It may well be that she has superhuman powers we don’t even know of yet, besides her obvious bloodlust and knife-skills if we take a good look at what she did to the hero Centurio, who was supposed to capture Void at the museum with the help of the Spear of Athena that, unfortunately, got stolen as well.” He doesn’t need to show the photo, but he does anyway. Melbourne makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “So. Any ideas?”

The room falls silent for a long time. Then Happy Feet slowly raises a hand.

    “It’s risky as shit… and there’s a lot of uncertainties to it, but I might have a plan. Oh, and you're not gonna like it.”

 

-

 

When you finally fall into your high bed, your legs dangling over the edge, it’s 3 in the goddamn morning and you can’t feel your limbs anymore. Not one of them. Not even a finger. _Especially_ not your fingers.

Blackhat had sent you on three heists in a row for three different clients in three different countries in two different _dimensions_. The first client had wanted you to rob a bank, you know, just like that, as a warm-up, the second (a very gross, mutated spider-villain) had their many eyes set on a priceless painting for their collection, guarded behind three steel doors and a pack of rabid dogs, and the third just wanted a bucket of ice cream after closing hours, which had actually turned out to be the most difficult of the missions that almost turned into a disaster. You never would have thought a gas station could be this heavily fortified! And since Flug was forced to throw the individual plans and your equipment together in such a short amount of time, the jobs had all been chaotic and stressful, forcing you to rely mostly on your own cunning and skills to complete them successfully without dying or getting caught. Now you’re so exhausted you’re not even able to get up and take a shower. And to top-hat it all off…

    “I get that you want to make cash as quickly as you can, boss… but what the _fuck_?! If you wanted to work me to the _bone_ just take an angle-grinder next time for fuck’s sake.”

Blackhat tuts as he steps out of the shadows. So your feeling had been correct that he was close.

    “What did I tell you about this filthy gutter language in my presence?” he rasps with a sinister chuckle. You groan and roll your eyes.

    “Please tell me you’re not here for what I think you’re here for? I’m beat. Super beat. A bowl of cold, overdone _oats_ would be more responsive than I am right now.” Despite your exhaustion you quickly raise yourself up on your elbows when your boss stalks ever closer to you, afraid he might not give two shits and a fuck that you’re only a boneless pile of flesh at the moment. Probably more to his liking than you with a fury and your claws out. His single eye flashes at you as if you had mentioned that out loud, and his grin widens.

    “Oh, you look _responsive_ alright. Just the right amount of defenseless but still conscious enough to be afraid.” He barely suppresses a hungry growl. You swallow nervously, only managing to shake your head.

    “Just… don’t. Please? I know you don’t give a shit, but I’d like just one night of restful sleep? Without any Outer God horror-show?” He’s right in front of you now, the fingers of one gloved hand flitting teasingly over the side of your knee that’s still stuck in spandex, sweaty like the rest of you, but you can’t move it away. His grin is even wider now.

    “Has anyone ever told you my dear that, sometimes, it’s better to just shut your mouth? Instead of digging that grave of yours deeper and deeper…” the hand on your knee travels higher and you feel yourself tensing in response. But then Blackhat turns away, hands folded on his back. “Lucky for you, I’ve already had my fill.” With a speed you don’t know where it comes from, certainly not your body, you sit up and stare at him.

    “Wait, wha-" realizing how you are acting right now, you shut yourself up real quick, but he’s already looking over his shoulder with a knowing grin.

    “Well, would you look at that… jealous, are we dearest?” he inquires furtively. You scoff and cross your arms.

    “Of who? _Flug_? Pfff, come on. Poor guy, I hope you went easy on him and his heart.” Yet you feel a sting in your guts, festering already, like hot lava, like a rusty corkscrew that’s burying itself inside of you, and you’re the one twisting the handle with each dark thought running through your head. As if he had read your mind, despite of what he said he could or could not do, Blackhat laughs out loud.

    “Who said anything about Flug?” _Twist_. “You have no _idea_ how many exquisite beings, mortal and immortal, are just _dying_ to have more of my… Outer God horror-show.” _TWIST._

    “Great, uh, can you get out now? I don’t wanna… _catch_ anything. Mortal or immortal.” _Oh, nice clapback me. Thanks me, I do what I can… he's gonna kill us now, huh? Yeah, probably._ And indeed, Blackhat’s eye rolls back into his skull and he teleports over to you, hands transformed into claws.

    “ _You really don’t know when to shut up, do you? Fortunately I don’t mind teaching you a lesson or ten as long as I get to hear you scream!”_ You try to crawl away from him but your hands and feet don’t get a real grip on the silken bedspread and he’s on you in a flash, wrapping his hand around your throat.

    “Blackhat, please, come on, I-" No chance, the cruel grip shuts you right up, and being as exhausted as you are, there ain’t shit you can do against it. It’s just like last night, when Wingdings had trapped you with his magic. _Weak_. _Powerless_. If only you could use your stupid SOUL actively to fight back against these otherworldly monsters! If only there was a way to escape… to disappear,  to-

    “ ** _What_**?!” His incredulous snarl jerks you back into the present, yet it sounds farther away somehow and when you open your eyes, you’re suddenly not on the bed anymore, but standing. Behind him. You blink, confused, so taken aback in fact that you can’t react in time when he wheels around to you, not that you would have actually been able to turn heel and book it with your shaking legs. So you only flinch, hands clenching into fists by your sides. Blackhat looks you over. His single eye is round in surprise, his whole face slack in honest confusion and start. You find your voice again before he can switch moods on you.

    “I- I don’t know what I did, sir.” You whisper, terrified not only of him, but more of what had just happened. “I have no idea where that-" the words get stuck in your throat when he crosses the distance between you in one blurred motion, grabbing your shoulders with both hands. You are more than glad you’re still wearing the leather jacket. You don’t think you would have been able to keep it together without a barrier between you and his touch. And of course his gaze drops to your chest immediately.

    “My, my…” he utters, more to himself than really you, “and still you keep surprising me.” You shake your head in disbelief, not convinced that this really happened, that this was something _you_ did _._

    “Stop messing with my head!” you hiss. “What _was_ that?! What did you do to me?” He cocks his head to one side and lifts his look to your face.

    “It would seem my… headless actions had quite unforeseen effects on you.” Then his monocle flashes, and you can _feel_ something invisible wrapping itself around you like a layer of cling foil. You hiss at the sensation and writhe but it doesn’t go away, even when he lets go off you again.

    “What the- what is this? What did you do now!?” You press out, rubbing your arms. Blackhat scrutinizes you again, his face set in a thoughtful frown, but you can already make out the hint of a beginning grin that he’s still trying to keep to himself.

    “A precaution, my dear Ghost. We can’t have you blinking out onto the roof by accident now, can we? I’m sure you will get the hang of it soon enough, but now is not the time for experiments, not with what I have in mind for you.”

    “Could you be any more cryptic please?” you gripe and slap a hand over your face, rubbing your eyes. “Blackhat, I just did some weird magical shit I’ve never done in my life before, don’t you _dare_ leave me-" A grin, a _whoosh_ , and he’s gone. “… alone in the dark with this.” You stare at the spot where he just stood, sensing a general feeling of panic and fear surfacing through your confusion, making you want to scream. _I just teleported_ , you think, not really having digested the situation yet. “Oh God, I just teleported!” You look down on your hands. They’re shaking, not surprising, but apart from that there’s nothing unusual to them, or the rest of you for that matter. You’re still… you. Plain, boring old you.

Even though you know you probably won’t be able to sleep with this new beehive in your head, you climb back on the bed and bury yourself in the blanket and pillows and only kick off your shoes before disappearing beneath the mountain of silk. Right now, you want to be as little exposed as possible. In fact, you would prefer to really hide somewhere, somewhere dark, just like when you were-

In a wink you sit upright again, the pillows tumbling down from the bed. Your eyes are wide open but you’re staring at nothing.

    “Playing hide and seek… but I never…”

You had never _played_ hide and seek as a kid, you had _lived_ it, every day of your life before Sans had taken you in, or you would have been dead long ago! And yet, there is this thought in your head, this _memory_ of waiting in the dark, excited and giddy, waiting with a mixture of fear and anticipation for the door to open and a voice to sing out: _I found you my little-_

 

-

 

Blackhat stares out of the huge window, his single, narrowed eye only a thin line of white in the reflection, looking back at him. He tries to quiet the concern in his mind but it won’t go, stays insistently inside his thoughts. A _warning_ voice. Yet he is not willing to listen and let it dampen his unbridled excitement over those recent developments, his absolute, fiendish delight! First the obtaining of yet another artifact enchanted by a divine being, namely the spear you had taken after killing your first hero with nothing more than a knife (he still gets shivers over this), and that was apparently strong enough to burn out black holes faster than they could obtain new mass, within milliseconds, rendering Void's powers virtually useless against the wielder of this spear. Flug had been vibrating with excitement over his findings, right up to the point where Blackhat had punished him for the interruption. 

Flug's and Dementia's mission the night before his near-death experience had turned out to be a spectacular success as well, revealing the leak in their network that had ultimately lead to the ambush you and Void had run into in the museum. Yet this matter was most delicate, and he had a mind to handle it with tact and flair, with intrigue and cunning rather than crushing it to be rid of it. After all, there was undeniable potential buried beneath this seemingly trivial problem.

Then there was the matter of his unwanted house-guest of interdimensional nature himself. Even though his brazen attack was still infuriating him beyond anything, Blackhat felt more than pleased by the mysteries this unsavory encounter had brought forth, and solved to a degree. For instance, he knew now that he wouldn't be able to steal your soul the usual way and that he simply had to wait for it to be released in order to obtain it, or else it would cause him serious harm. And there was more he hoped to uncover in the near future, more theories he meant to prove to be true.

And now, merely an hour after your first successful jobs for his organization, he had been fortunate enough to witness your newest trick to baffle his mind and make you this much more enticing! If there weren't more pressing matters right now, he would have immediately let you loose with your newfound ability and kept a close eye on you, to see what you could do with it! There’s no doubt that he had something to do with its sudden existence. But he can’t figure out for the love of him what had caused it or why now of all times!

    “Maybe it was really because I leant her my own powers…” he says into the silent office, his mind rejoicing at yet another enigma you presented to him, a gift almost as alluring as your soul. But was that really the cause? The hat had been on your crown for barely a minute and didn’t even fuse with you completely during that brief moment. What if…

The eye in the window widens a fraction and his hands on his back clench. _Flug_. Had it possibly been your death in the lounge that caused this power to surface?! There had been nothing unusual to it when he retrieved your soul before it could actually get away (even though he was pleased to see it had homed in on Hell immediately), but maybe something had happened to it that he wasn’t aware of, since he had no real insight into your SOUL thanks to its infuriatingly resistant inhabitant.

“It has to be…” he murmurs, nodding at himself in the glass and his reflection tips its hat to him in assurance. Blackhat smirks, his hand lifting to conjure forth his beloved violin, Aranyi, built in 1666 by none other than Antonio Stradivari himself, barely 18 years of age at that time. In fact, this violin had been the very first instrument Stradivari ever built and that had been the cause of his life-long obsessions with crafting another violin as powerful, and cursed, as the one Blackhat commissioned from him that fateful year. It was built from the wood of a 3000 year old yew where the first men sacrificed unfortunate victims to the Lord of Darkness (Blackhat), its strings and bow hairs torn out from the last unicorn he had hunted down himself. And after hearing the first three notes from Aranyi, the instrument maker's mind and soul had been lost forever. Even on his death bed he still mourned never to have built another violin that even came close to the one Blackhat was now holding.

He caresses the smooth, worn wood that’s almost completely black from eons of play and essences trapped within, the warm corpus thrumming on its own, quivering like a living thing once it feels the touch of its master. He grins. Things were only just beginning to get interesting, and they demanded to be celebrated!

 

-

    “Blackhat?!” Your shout echoes through the entire mansion. The leaden tiredness in your legs is forgotten and you’re sprinting down the hallways of each floor, banging your fist against every door, if not in hope of actually finding your boss then at least to annoy the hell out of him enough to come forth from the shadows and answer your cries. “Hey! Boss! I need to talk to you, _now_!” On the second floor you storm up to the office at the end of the corridor, pushing up the sleeves of your jacket to slam the door in half if you have to, when a sound from behind it makes you freeze. It’s the melancholic stroke of a violin, rising slowly before falling and jumping away, the strange notes thrumming in your very body and causing goosebumps to run over your arms. Instead of banging on the door, you wait for a pause in the melody before rapping your knuckles against the wood, waiting with tensed shoulders.

    “I wish not to be disturbed.” Comes the gravelly answer.

    “Oh yeah? Well-" then you swallow your fury and prop your forehead against the wood with a _thud_ and a sigh. “I just want to know one thing… when you explored my dreams, my memories; Did you ever see my life before I got into the gang? I- I’m getting the feeling there’s something I forgot, you know? Like… _someone_ I forgot about…” You realize how sappy and stupid you sound and immediately turn away, when the door opens and his hand curls over your shoulder to pull you back. You’re spun around and pushed up against the closed door, now inside his dark office. Blackhat looks down on you with an irritated frown, teeth poking over his lip.

    “And you come bothering me for that in the middle of the night? I thought you were quite insistent on getting some rest.” You hold his glare.

    “So, do you know anything? The sooner I get my answer the sooner I’ll be out of your… hat.”

    “What makes you think I will tell you anything and not just send you back to your room you bothersome little pest?” He growls and tightens his grip on your shoulder. Now you actually manage a grin.

    “Because I’m still here. And you could’ve just said no.”

He scowls, but lets go off you and tilts his head back to look down at you from the shadow of his hat.

    “I never saw anything specific, the memories of your former life are quite deeply buried in your subconscious mind. You will have to unearth them yourself, I’m afraid.” You huff, disappointed, and turn away to leave. “However.” Blackhat continues, making you pause. “Your body alone, the scars left aside, and the fact that you are far above the average intelligence and literacy of an ordinary street urchin tell an entirely different origin story than you would have me believe at first. If you indeed had a life before the streets, it was not one of poverty and hardship.”

You look over your shoulder and up to him, absolutely shocked, both at what he said and the fact he would tell you this in earnest and not straight up lie to you to get you to leave. But before you can say anything else, he’s shoved you out the door with a grunt. “Now get out, I need you sharp tomorrow!”

The door is slammed shut in your face without any further explanation and not a minute later Blackhat resumes his somber play. You just stand there, listening to the sound of the violin, letting everything sink in.

 _If you had a life before the streets, it was not one of poverty and hardship_.

So if this was the truth, and you don’t think he was lying about that just to get you to leave him in peace, otherwise he would have come up with something way more realistic or simply teleported you away, it means that you probably did have a family before ending up on the streets! But who? And where were they now? Had they left you? Given you away? Were they dead? Why didn’t you have any memories of them? Was ______ even your real name?!

    “Fuck, why did I even bother… now I won’t get any sleep at all!” Well, you could always try and get something to _help_ you sleep. You had discovered an entire arsenal of sleeping pills while you were rummaging through Flug’s medicine safe looking for the morphine pills for Vijay. You definitely don’t want to risk getting yourself mangled by Blackhat a second time trying to get into his liquor cabinet again. Suddenly you snort cynically. “I could always get Dementia to knock me unconscious, too.”

In the end you settle on the sleeping pills, but choose the paragon route and knock on Flug’s door down in the lab. He jerks around at the sound, almost dropping the gadget he’s tinkering on even at this hour. His strained eyes behind the glasses promptly narrow at you in a frown.

    “Oh. It’s you.” He observes with an edge. The thought of punching him again is tempting, even more so with the remaining twist of the jealousy-corkscrew you still feel in your guts, but you stick to being neutral for now. You could always ham it up if he kept his bitchy attitude.

    “Yup. It’s me.” You huff. “Hey, um, do you maybe have something that might help me sleep? I’m not doing so hot right now in that department.” Flug scoffs a bitter laugh and turns back to his workbench.

    “Welcome to the club.” He mutters. “The only one who gets any sleep around here is Dementia.” Despite the venom, you snicker.

    “Yeah I bet. I really envy her sometimes. She’s always so… cheery, even though Blackhat ignores her.” You throw in. Flug pauses and drops his shoulders with a tired sigh. Then he leaves the gadget alone and holds a rubber-gloved finger up, indicating you to stay put while he leaves through the adjacent door. A minute later he returns and tosses you a foil strip of white pills.

    “Take one of them. Two if you want to end up in a coma and three if you want to, you know, _end_. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m behind on this project already.” He turns away and you smack the strip against your palm a few times, suddenly feeling sorry that you had such a falling out with him.

    “Thanks, Flug. Good night.” You mumble.

He just grunts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh snap, BH got them side hoooooes whaddup!? You got some competition, gurl! 
> 
>  
> 
> **Next update on the 2nd of February!**


	38. Don't Be Afraid It's Only Death

_They’re still so ecstatic that they ignore the next villain who has just arrived, and who only needs one look before he jumps back into his spaceship to book it. Smartest guy in the universe, ladies and gents. You don’t have that freedom to turn around and say nope anymore._

### 38\. Don’t Be Afraid It’s Only Death

 

 

The pill helps despite your worry that it might not. But when you wake up somewhere around noon, you do it with a pounding headache and a dry mouth, your entire body feeling sore. It’s hard to believe, but you’re actually feeling even worse than yesterday!

_I fucking teleported._

Just like that the thought is back in your brain, firmly rooted into it, banishing every other thing from it, and there’s nothing you can do to quiet the rising alarm that follows it, the panic and confusion your exhaustion had dampened before. Now however, it’s the only thing you can think about and not even Blackhat’s revelation about your potential past is shocking enough to push it to the back. Moreover, you can’t even get to the bottom of the how's and what-the-fuck's of it, because your asshole of a boss had immediately shot you down and prevented you from finding out if this had been a one-time accident or really a… a _thing_. Blackhat had muttered something about his own headless actions right before he put that icky spell on you. Had he been talking about the moment he tried to steal your SOUL and it lashed out? Or perhaps about what had happened during Wingding's ambush, when he had placed his hat on your head and you-

With a determined mental jerk you stop this train of thoughts and swing your legs out of the bed to virtually get out of this funk, groaning at the immediate protest in your body. If every job was going to be this exhausting you would be dead by the end of the week!

Suddenly something catches your eye and a little smile tugs on your lips. Apparently 5.0.5 wanted to say thank you for letting him sleep in your bed yesterday, because the tray with pancakes and coffee can only be from him - if it’s not another gruesome illusion. Which it isn’t! The amazing taste of honey pancakes lifts your mood a literal mile and brings a serene smile to your face. How could anything be bad if you got to eat these delicious things every other day? When you’re done you all but dance into the bathroom to finally get that shower you had been meaning to take after the missions and even this feels heavenly all of a sudden. Why, you don’t even startle that badly when you come out of the bath, skin red hot and scrubbed clean, and find Blackhat’s dark silhouette already waiting for you.

    “Mornin’ boss.” You greet him and watch his scowl turn into a face of utmost disgust at your pleasant tone, the single eye pointedly darting to the empty plate with honey-dots still on it. A mixture of a snarl and hurl erupts from his chest. You just shrug. “Got more jobs for me already?” The eye settles on you again, followed by a secretive but definitely mean grin.

    “Not exactly. Pack your things, we’re leaving for a business trip. Just the two of us.”

And just like that, your good mood is gone. Shot at point blank range and left outside for the dogs to gorge down its sad remains.

    “B- business trip?” you echo, incredulous, not sure you understood him correctly. Then both realization and adrenaline kick in and you lose every ounce of relaxation you had managed to gain during your lovely breakfast and shower. “Wait, _what_?! What things, I don’t have any-" Blackhat’s malicious glee evaporates in light of your panicked sputtering, immediately being replaced by a look of annoyance again.

    “I mean clothes, your gear and what else you humans might need for a business excursion, you imbecile! Especially your mask; in fact, _wear_ that jacket you’ve put the mask onto when you come down. And you better be downstairs in an hour, or I will stuff your pathetic carcass into the suitcase instead.” He snaps his fingers to conjure up said suitcase, silencing the next protest that had already been ready on the tip of your tongue.

    “And… what kind of business trip is this going to be exactly?” you chance to ask before he can vanish again immediately; the only other _business_ trips you had ever attended had been shake-downs, collecting protection fees and uprooting the rivaling gangs with mostly deadly intentions. Blackhat grins sharply once more.

    “Oh, just a three day long convention expecting the Who is Who in the entire villain network of the Black Hat Organization; some of which you might have already met. I have decided to… showcase my newest asset – you – for maximal exposure and not just rely on the commercial alone. Consider it your debut as an aspiring villain.” He elaborates graciously, ignoring the look of growing despair on your face entirely. This was bad. Worse, this was terrible, pure horror! He wanted to present you in front of a huge crowd of villains like some sort of prized breeding cattle?! You hated crowds, and you hated being exposed even more! You were used to staying in the shadows, not prance about in the limelight!

    “Is that… really neces-" Before you can finish your murmured demur, Blackhat’s face splits open in a sickening vortex of gory bits, teeth and slimy organs, the utter force of his blood-curdling shriek shutting you up in an instant. “Okay.” You mutter in defeat once the horror show is over. He gives you another chilling glare from the shadow of his hat and raises his brows at you, monocle gleaming red.

    “One. Hour.” _Snap_ , and he is gone. You look over to the red suitcase with the black top hat logo on the front, your mind wiped clean. There is just nothing you could possibly do or even come up with that would get you out of this. _Guess I better start packing then. For three days._ Three days alone with the Crawling Chaos himself and a crowd of bloodthirsty, overpowered, evil assholes to ogle at you and probably bid the highest amount to get to buy your exclusive thief-services first. Suddenly you feel really, really glad that Blackhat was too offended by the mere idea of running a brothel than to just sell your exclusive body along for good measures. But apart from that? You want to pretend that at least with him hovering about nobody would try anything funny, like hitting on you, or getting rid of you for being this undeservingly privileged to work for him, but then again you _know_ he wouldn’t ever interfere should a villain really want to test you, and just enjoy the spectacle with a drink in his hand and a big smile on his horrible, eldritch face, cheering on your opponent.

A frustrated groan rips from your chest and you rub your face with both hands, wishing, not for the first time since you found yourself here and certainly not the last time either, that things had taken a much more different turn for you. Maybe if Frisk hadn’t ratted you out Sans wouldn’t have wanted you dead. Maybe if you had been a little (okay, a _lot_ ) more attentive you wouldn’t have lost Frisk's trust. Maybe…

    “Maybe if I wasn’t such a fucking idiot I’d still have a family…” you suddenly hiss out, the wave of self-hatred so vicious and uncharacteristic that you flinch, your eyes widening. For a second you just stare at the vast bedroom and don’t really see it at the same time. Then you turn around and grab the suitcase to fling it on the bed and open it. You had other things to worry about than the past now! Surviving this ill-boding private escape with your boss for example! And when had you ever looked back on that before in the first place? There was always only one direction: forward. To the next day, the next opportunity, the next handhold to claw your way out of this shithole that was life for someone like you.

 

Half an hour later you walk out of the elevator in the main hall with a still pretty light suitcase in tow, and of course Blackhat is already there, waiting for you. You roll the luggage over to him and stuff your hands into the pockets of your leather jacket, shrugging. Your heart has suddenly sunken like the goddamn Titanic and the rest of you feels as cold as the northern Atlantic. Blackhat just scrutinizes you with a look of mild irritation, cocking a brow. You observe that he doesn’t have a suitcase with him, but then again, what would he possibly need to carry if he can just make it appear whenever he wanted.

    “So,” you huff, “are we good to go, or…” He holds a hand up to stop you.

    “In a moment.” Then he waves the fingers of that hand around and Flug is pulled through the floor with a lot of agonized screams, rubbing his back once he’s fully emerged. The boss doesn’t even wait for him to get to his feet and already launches into an announcement: “Dr. Flug, we will be gone for the next three days as I’m sure you are already aware of.”

Flug cracks his back one more time, nodding his head weakly.

    “Yes, sir. The LOVE congregation. I- I didn't forget it! Let me just grab my-"

     “I’m afraid there was a spontaneous change of plans, Flug. I am just taking ______ along with me this time. You will remain here and run the organization as per usual.” Blackhat continues, undeterred, and you realize, a little taken aback, that Flug looks absolutely shocked beneath his paper bag. More shocked than you are to learn the name of this convention.

    “You- you… but boss, Lord Blackhat, sir, I thought we-” Flug stammers and you push past him to also get a word in.

    “The _what_ -congregation?!”

    “ ** _Silence!_** ” your boss roars, the entire front hall trembling in his ire. You both shut up in an instant, lowering your eyes when he stares you down. Then he settles again and crosses his hands on his back.

    “Now then. Business will proceed uninterrupted but all pending jobs for our Ghost here are suspended for the time being. The usual empty promises and lies: our assets are already busy with other jobs, we will get to it ASAP and so on. Maybe let Dementia take over some of the more persistent customers and charge the fools _double_. Since you don’t have any questions, we’re off.” And with that Blackhat turns and smoothly walks out the front door, although to you it looks more like he’s gliding over the floor so unnatural are his movements. You turn to Flug and make a face that’s both apologetic and screaming for help but he just crosses his arms and huffs. Ah, so you were still playing that silly little game of who’s the boss’ favorite henchman. Without another word you grab your suitcase and follow Blackhat out of the manor; where there’s a black, old looking carriage waiting on the street before the gate that opens on a silent command from him. You look around but don’t see any demonic skeleton-horses or hellhounds who could possibly be pulling this thing.

“Are you just going to stand there all day?!” Blackhat snarls impatiently and you force your feet forward, the suitcase _clunk-clunk-clunk_ ing down each step stone until you’re at the bottom of the path and through the gate. With wide eyes you stare at the big coach. Of course it’s lacquered pitch black, with gleaming red windows, complete with curtains, gilded rims and two eerily glowing lanterns mounted at the front, adorned by a top hat. But the strangest thing has to be that nothing’s hitched up to it! There’s not even a hatbotler functioning as a coachman. Which probably means that this thing is cursed. Blackhat opens the side-door of the carriage for you with a flourish and a wide grin. “After you.”

You’re about to ask him where to put your luggage, but another snap from his fingers poofs the suitcase out of existence again, making your question obsolete and destroying your last chance to prolong this dreaded trip any further. You sigh and climb up the few steps into the dark interior of the carriage, two benches cushioned with carmine red velvet and more dark wood greeting you. With your nerves strung as high as a kite you sink down on the left side bench. Blackhat follows you inside a lot more practiced and knocks his cane against the back of the carriage once he’s closed the door behind himself. Before you can say anything sarcastic the coach jolts forward and you flinch in your seat, casting a wide eyed look out the window where the empty houses of the plaza move past in a rumbling trot. Yup, definitely cursed. _So this is it. The most awkward, most horrible ride of my life,_ you think and immediately wish you were somewhere else. 

Your boss settles back into his own seat, flicking invisible specks of dust from his sleeve. Now you could either say nothing for however long this drive was going to last, and die on the inside from discomfort, or maybe try to get some information out of him, and risk getting tortured for annoying him. God, even a trip alone with Papyrus would have been much more fun than this because he would have just talked about how great he was the entire ride! This almost feels like a standoff. 

    “What was the name of that convention again?” you start awkwardly. “I thought I misheard because you said something that sounded like lo-"

   “The LOVE congregation, correct.” Blackhat interrupts you with a nasty smirk curling his thin lips when your facial expression immediately derails again at the _problematic_ term out of his mouth. “League Of Villainous Enterprises, don’t get your hopes up, dear. It is the most exclusive convention of all nefarious businesses of rank and name, infamous black-market shops and distributors of evil services from various dimensions and worlds, and its members sponsor other conventions, like the Mad Science Expo I allow Flug to visit once in a blue moon. It is held in a luxurious, traveling hotel within a temporal, interdimensional space, hence the carriage. While I could have easily teleported us there directly, I prefer to make a much bigger entrance on important occasions.” His brows furrow as his glare focuses on you. “Another rule out of my handbook for villains, and you’ll better memorize it if you want to make it out there on your own! Rule number 460: A great villain knows how to make a great entrance. Rule number 461: an even greater villain knows how to make an entrance that renders his enemies immobile for at least five minutes and gives him all the time he needs to crush them!”

    “Whatever you say, boss.” You sigh, regretting to even have opened your mouth after all. But since there was no going back now… “So, are there actually going to be any villains I already know? Like Metauro, Mawrasite or Void? Or… oh, what about that Alastor-guy that visited you the other day? I actually liked that one.” He did seem like much more pleasant company than most of the other villains you had encountered (namely Dark Phantom and Lady Naga!!), despite the obvious, terrifying powers he had to possess to make Blackhat actually respect him so openly the way you had seen. Yet as soon as the name crosses your lips, his frown deepens all the way into a slight snarl and he pointedly crosses his arms in a display of utter disapproval.

    “I will only say this once: I forbid that you get yourself involved with him.” Now you can’t help but laugh out, surprised. That was the last thing you would have expected him to say!

    “Are you serious?” You sneer once you’ve managed to catch your composure again. “ _Now_ who’s the jealous one? Aww are you afraid the tall and scary Radio Demon might seduce me with his scratchy gramophone voice from the 20’s and whisk me away?” you snicker again but stop when Blackhat just clucks his serpent tongue and his grin returns sardonically.

    “Oh please, don’t make a fool of yourself. On the contrary, my dear ______. If Alastor wasn’t as loathe to the pleasures of the flesh as I am to _charity work_ , I would have loved to _share_ you with him. In every. single. possible way.” His eye widens and the already gloomy interior of the carriage seems to get even darker at his ill-boding words. You swallow and try to suppress the shiver of unease when your brain immediately paints a detailed picture of that horrible mental image. Yeah, you’re really glad good old Al wasn’t all too fond of the horizontal mambo. One overpowered eldritch entity of evil was already more than you could handle. Watching your terror with glee, Blackhat elaborates: “No, that's not it; but because I know him so well I trust that he would not hesitate to chop you up into fine little pieces any chance he’d get. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. After all, it’s what he does best. Or, did, rather.” He chuckles at that before his gaze settles on your face again. “You see, Alastor was once just a human like yourself. A sick, homicidal serial killer, granted, with a deep obsession for the powers of Voodoo and how to use them, but apart from that? Nothing special; yet I _enjoyed_ watching his handiwork, his art. A skilled hunter and an even better killer. Unhinged yet cautious. Bloodthirsty yet immaculate. Until he – ironically – got shot by a hunter that mistook him for a deer when his hound dog bayed at him while he was burying his latest victim, and he ended up in Hell like the poor sinner he was, doomed to be either fodder or a plaything for the powerful demons ruling there.”

    “Hold on, I thought he _is_ a demon? If he’s just a human-” – “Oh, Alastor is far more dangerous and powerful than any mere demon in Hell.” Blackhat interrupts your objection, the grin on his face turning even wider. “He is… unique among them, his powers unprecedented and rivaling even the strongest of their overlords. Why? Because _I_ gave him those powers! Because I knew what chaos and destruction he would be capable of wreaking with them! On his dying breath I appeared  before him and told him what was going to happen to his undying soul, and what he could do to change that fate if he so desired. _Now_ I get to enjoy his eternal debt to me, as well as the entertainment of watching him slaughter his way through Hell's ranks. And it never gets dull with him around.” Another chuckle before his face suddenly turns stern. You tense immediately again.

“So, as much as I would love to see him turn you into one of his victims… I am not quite finished with you. Not until I have made an ultimate villain out of you.”

You find the strength to snort somehow.

    “You really think I have it in me?” It’s meant as a sarcastic quip but Blackhat’s sinister look speaks volumes.

    “You have shown the potential. But should you prove utterly resistant to learn the ways, I will not hesitate to dispose of you and finally claim that rebellious soul of yours for myself!”

    “Fair enough.” You mutter, glancing at the window. The sight outside is now only a whirling vortex of strange colors and shapes so you quickly look forward again and are met with another gloating grin. “Alright, since we’re already conversing this… nicely: care to finally explain what happened in my room last night?! Why the hell was I able to… you didn’t call it teleporting-"

    “You _blinked_ , my little thief. Something you, a regular human from your dimension, shouldn’t even be capable of doing. But then again you haven’t once failed to surprise me up to now. And you did live through several… unusual circumstances that might have played a part.” You claw into the cushion you’re sitting on, the nervous tension from being forced into this cramped space with Blackhat only fueling your agitated, confused state.

    “Yeah but- how?! Was it really because I came in contact with your powers? With _you_?! Was it maybe because I died and came back? I- I heard these… voice when I was- when I was _gone_ and-"

    “What voices?” All of a sudden Blackhat seems a lot more alert than annoyed and you hesitate, trying to gauge whether you could exchange that information for some of his which he was still, obviously, keeping from you. You shake your head and shrug.

    “I don’t remember what they said,” _truth,_ “and I didn’t recognize them either.” _Lie._ You fight the nervous reflex to throw Blackhat a checking glance, and most likely give away your lie that way, hoping against all odds that he wouldn’t already know it was one anyway. You _had_ recognized one of the voices, two actually. One of them had belonged to Sans, right before you came back, and another one had suspiciously sounded like Wingdings, but the four voices beside those had been entirely unfamiliar to you. When nothing bad happens right away you look up and shrug again. He’s staring intently at you, his single eye trying to pierce your skull.

“So what do you think they were? Or what caused me to hear them?” At this Blackhat blinks, visibly surprised. After another moment of silence he shakes his head.

    “I don’t know for sure. Without knowing what they said I couldn’t tell you. I had hoped the brush with death might have brought forth some of your earlier memories to unravel this conundrum that you are. But this is useless.” He adds, now bored again. You scoff.

    “Well geez, sorry, boss. Maybe we should try again, huh?” before you can stop yourself the comment is out and another grin lifts his eldritch features.

    “Why, I couldn’t have said it better myself!” And he raises a red glowing hand, the air around the glove boiling. You jerk up your hands to defend yourself but to no avail: the terrible hold seizes your throat, strangling the life out of you. Only this time it isn’t punishment; it doesn’t end! You claw at nothing, feel your heart pounding for dear life. Blackhat’s eye is glued to your face as he watches you slowly suffocate, his grin wide in satisfaction, drool running down his chin in streams. With a last, desperate effort you kick and thrash but he just leans forward and closes his physical hand around your neck to actually feel the life draining from you beneath his palm. A twist and a shove, and he’s pressing you down onto the bench, making your kicks feckless. Your vision fades to black, right when his face hovers closely over yours. He’s talking but you can’t hear anything over the sound of blood rushing in your ears, can’t see, can’t feel...

With a painful gasp you come to again and shoot up from where you’re lying on the cushioned seat, coughing and panting frantically. For a second you don’t think that you even died this time, given the short span between your waking moments, yet when you touch your neck it feels terribly cold. Like that of a _corpse_! Your eyes are swimming with tears and you blink rapidly to peer through them. Blackhat is sitting on his side of the coach again, looking incredibly frustrated.

    “You fucking asshole!” you cry out hoarsely and wince at the pain in your throat, causing another coughing fit to shake you. “Son of a bitch! How- how long was I _dead_ for?!” He makes a face and raises his crossed arms in a shrug. He looks _pissed_.

    “Fifteen minutes, give or take. I almost had to reach all the way into Hell to get your soul back.” He makes it sound like that’s _your_ fault somehow.

    “Fuck! I better not suffered any brain damage from this! And it didn’t work by the way you sick bastard! Happy now?!” A snarl is the only reply you get. “Yeah, serves you right.” You hiss out and slump down on the bench, massaging your poor, abused neck. “Since you had your chance to get some answers – without my consent and I really think we should establish some sort of boundaries if you’re planning to keep me alive and torture me for a while longer – how about _I_ get a freebie now?”

Blackhat cocks a brow at you, his grimace slipping in start.

    “A _what_?!” he sounds absolutely _scandalized_ which makes you snort despite the third death experience you had within 24 hours. And the worst one yet.

    “A free _ticket_ you dolt. To get some answers. _Truthful_ answers.” He sighs, exasperated, like he had been the one brutally strangled to death and not you.

    “I suppose. You get _one_ question.”

    “That’s how it works. Okay… How is Void still alive without a SOUL? Where I’m from people can’t live without one. Or… at least I thought so until now. What are souls even? How do they work?”

Blackhat pouts at you.

    “That were three questions. Pick one, make up your bloody mind for crying out loud!” He rasps. You gnaw on your fingernails, racking your brain over how to possibly ask all three at once.

    “How… what are the mechanics… behind stealing one’s soul and keeping them alive?” _Ugh, I really feel like my brain got turned into actual slush._ But Blackhat gives you the slightest inclination of his hat; apparently you did well in phrasing that.

    “Even though you failed horrendously at phrasing your questions into one that might have cornered me to answer them all, I shall indulge your curiosity.” But before he does he folds one leg over the other, smoothing down his coat, and basically makes a show of his answer, while you struggle not to roll your eyes at the spectacle and possibly lose your freebie.

Once he’s all set, Blackhat raises a hand, conjuring up the image of a cartoon-shaped heart from glowing smoke. A SOUL. “This is what you call a SOUL, or what the monsters in your world perceive as one. Those of humans are much stronger than monster-SOULS and thus persist a while even after the human died, enabling monsters to take and absorb them to fuel their own magic. Yet they don’t know that this form,” he raises his other hand and flicks a finger against the edge of the heart, causing it to break across the middle, “is but the thick outer shell of a human soul. Its vessel.” He cracks the broken SOUL open like an egg, spilling a glowing liquid from it that swirls and dances in the air. Something stirs within you. This looks… familiar to you? But how?!

“Inside is this; a being’s true essence, the divine energy that makes them real in this world, that binds them to reality; or, as you would call it: a soul. Every living thing has one, from the smallest insect to the biggest beast. Even plants do. Now, you asked how I can steal someone’s soul without them dying? Well, I simply pluck their essence out of the SOUL, the shell, without breaking it. When a person dies it releases the SOUL with its essence still contained, but that vessel can be _emptied_ without the person dying. That’s what I do. Usually unnoticed, but I suppose you felt it when I… got a little carried away the night before last.”

His gaze crawls down to your chest and you instinctively place your hand over it, as if you could somehow shield your soul from that burning glare. You nod, a shiver racing over your back.

    “It- it felt like something was _pulled_ out of me.” You can only whisper pathetically, the horror of this revelation and your understanding of it all shaking you to the core. “That’s what you did to Void? To Flug? To… everyone?!” Your body freezes when he reaches out a hand again but Blackhat merely moves it in the space between you, tracing the shape of an invisible heart.

    “And if yours wasn’t as rebellious, I would have probably already taken it as well… and wouldn’t be stuck in this infuriating… _bitch_ of a situation anymore!” he growls out. Now you smirk a little. At least all this wasn’t only awful for you. But this time you know better than to tell him that.

Suddenly the carriage comes to a halt and Blackhat sits up, his single eye glinting as he looks at you. “Here we are. I expect you to wear your mask every waking hour from now on. Rule number 5: Never give away your true identity if you can help it. Unless you can make your enemies scream in terror by your mere appearance. Then _never_ wear a mask.” He seems frighteningly excited and your throat works to swallow the lump that’s suddenly there as his hand reaches for the door. “Now… Showtime!”

The noise that crashes over you as soon as he swings the carriage door open is staggering, no, it’s mind numbing! You quickly pull up the hood of your jacket, glad to hide the look of barely controlled panic on your face behind the appearing mask. Blackhat steps down from the coach, revealing the source of the dreadful clamor: villains. Thousands of them, a densely packed crowd to both sides of a red carpet, losing their fucking minds and shouting that very fact to the sky. Which, when you look up, is only a dome-like structure shielding the area off against the cold void of space itself. The blood red line of carpet leads up to a gigantic building, looking like either a venerable house of congress or a straight up ancient baroque castle! On the first of the roofs you notice giant letters in an elegant font: _Le Manoir Disparu._ You have absolutely no idea what that's supposed to mean, but it can only be the name of the hotel.

Blackhat clucks his tongue at you in a commanding fashion and you lower your eyes to quickly clamber out of the coach behind him, stiff as a board from nervous tension, a fish yanked out of the water and flung onto a scorching desert beach to either burn into a crisp or fight its way back. Your dark visor shields your eyes from the blinding flashes of countless phones and cameras only so much, and you automatically keep close to your boss, who’s pure aura of dread and terror is hopefully enough to keep the shrieking mass at a distance, but it quickly becomes evident to you that he is in fact the object of their fervent adoration!

    “Oh my God it’s really _him_!”

    “I can’t believe it! They said he wouldn’t show up this year either! I’m losing my _mind_!!”

    “Take my soul, Blackhat! Take it!!”

    "Oh fuck he looks even hotter than on camera!! I literally _can't_!"

    “Lord Blackhat will you sign the scalp of my latest victim!? I killed them just now for you!!”

    "Blackhat I want your _spawn!_ "

They’re crying like fangirls at a concert, fighting each other for a better spot, blood splashing into the air from the back rows and for a second you expect to see Dementia among them, swinging her axe, but fortunately she isn’t here to slay every single one of her competitors, who are of every conceivable size, race, species and gender. They are so focused on him that they don’t even see you, which you are grateful for when you spot the weapons they’re clutching and you quickly move around to his other side to use his dark form as a shield.

Other than you Blackhat takes the deafening cheers and hysteria in stride; with stoic disinterest, his eye blind to the surging mass of people going absolutely off the rails to be in his mere presence. Yet his utter ignorance only spurs them on more! The barbed and spiked security-fence doesn’t seem to deter the crowd all that much in their attempts to reach him, and you feel queasy when you notice the lifeless bodies already tangled up in the deadly construction.

    “This is insane… please don’t tell me they’re gonna be actually attending this convention?!” you mumble, more to yourself but of course Blackhat hears you over the blood-curdling screams of his mad fans.

    “Of course not. But there’s always going to be… detritus when you have so much infamy in one place. They are fans of the network for villains and somehow managed to hitch a ride to this dimension as stowaways to hopefully meet their idols. Most of them don’t know they will be stranded here and the rest of them doesn’t care, until the temporal shield is turned off once the hotel moves again. Then they will be stranded in the cold vacuum of the universe and **_die_** , mwahahaha!”

You arrive at a grand staircase and take a look back over the manic crowd. They’re still so ecstatic over having seen Lord Blackhat himself with their own eyes that they completely ignore the next villain who just arrived and who looks around incredulously at the lack of attention, before he spots Blackhat up on the stairs and immediately jumps back into his spaceship to book it. _Smartest guy in the universe right there, ladies and gentlemen. God speed to you, you lucky bastard_ , you think, an air of resignation sinking in. Again you realize that you’ve been put on a leash ever since you signed that contract in his office, and the more you pull to break free the harder his hand is going to yank on it to get you back in line. You don’t have that freedom to just turn around and say _nope_ anymore. Your life may have been spared when Wingdings saved you from Sans, but at what cost?

    “L- Lord Blackhat! We weren’t expecting you to grace us with your presence. Allow me to make a few arrangements to have the Imperial Suite cleared for your leisure right away!” The man at the top of the stairs bows deeply to Blackhat, shaking all over, sweat running down his neck into his suit. He’s also wearing a mask, but it’s only covering half his face and is also much more opulently decorated than yours, reminding you of carnival or opera masks. The gold on this one is definitely real, and not gold foil at all either. Your boss tuts and raises a hand.

    “Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Kean. _Allow me._ ” And with a horrible chuckle he snaps his fingers. The hotel manager jerks upright, terror written all over his eyes.

    “I- y-yes, my lord, of course. Um… did- what exactly did you-" he stammers but Blackhat waves him off, his grin wide and mischievous.

    “A simple, painless act of relocation, I assure you. Do you doubt my virtuousness to honor this establishment’s sacred rule?” he adds with a furtive edge, causing Kean to shake his head and hands in fear.

    “I- I would never, Lord Blackhat! Never! Forgive me. I- we were simply not appropriately prepared for your… arrival, which honors us beyond anything! But please, do come in, I refuse to have you exposed to this insulting clamor any longer!” he hastens to have his by standing, masked concierges open the huge double-winged door of the hotel for Blackhat and he smoothly steps inside. You follow right behind him and the manager falters for a second when he suddenly becomes aware of your existence.

    “Hey. I’m uh… I’m with him.” You blurt out and nudge your head towards your boss before the guy can even take a breath, and maybe it’s just the simple fact you’re not zapped by a monocle-laser right then and there that he decides to believe you, nodding curtly with his lips pursed in a disparaging manner. Apparently Mr. Kean doesn’t approve to have someone else here who’s not on the guest list and who’s not even a celebrity in the villain-verse. Once the doors are closed behind you and the noise from the cheering freaks has subsided, he addresses just those concerns: “Mh. Lord Blackhat, my liege, what about your… henchman? Will they be staying in the Imperial Suite as well?”

Blackhat turns his head slightly, casting an incredulous glare over his shoulder as if Kean had just dared to ask him for a tip.

    “Of course _not_! She will take one of your economy rooms for the duration of our stay.” He ignores the startled twitch of you and goes on: “Now if you’ll excuse me, I shall retire until the opening event and will not be disturbed. See to it that my…” a smirk, “ _henchman_ is accommodated for. Here’s her luggage.” Another snap and your suitcase pops up next to you while your boss vanishes in a top-hat-shaped cloud of black and green smoke, leaving you alone in the vast, expensive foyer with Mr. Kean, who instantly drops his polite façade the second his guest of horror, uh, _honor_ is out of earshot.

    “Brutus!” he bellows and a huge, muscle-packed bellhop stomps out of a corridor to the side. The barely fitting uniform is so tightly stretched over his barrel chest you take a step back, afraid one of the buttons might pop off any second now and shoot you at point blank range. The brute is also wearing a mask, one that eerily reminds you of Jason from Friday the 13th and the little eyes behind it stare at nothing like the guy was either dumb as a pebble or an actual brain-dead zombie. Kean throws you a glance he maybe would’ve regarded a spider or a roach with and he probably usually called Brutus as an exterminator, too. “Take her to the economy wing. Room 23 should still be unoccupied.” He tells the bellman, who utters a long, hollow sounding groan before he turns and walks back into the dark hallway. You vent a long, exhausted sigh behind your mask and follow him, the sound of your suitcase rolling over the shining marble floor masking your muttered curses and death-wishes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to _Le Manoir Disparu_ , The Disappearing Mansion, my little thieves!! The next three days will be nothing but FUN!! 
> 
> ... oh, no, not for you wtf, who told you that?? Hope you're all checked in and the room is to your liking!
> 
> So, now you also know a whole lot more about how SOULs and souls work! Neat, huh? 
> 
> **Next update on the 9th of February!**


	39. The Love Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who want to join me, I'm streaming this chapter live on twitch.tv/thetruemek right now!! Come on over and maybe get your ears raped??

_The hallway falls quiet in an instance, the loitering low-life criminals and other henchmen turning towards you in unison. One of them raises himself to full height, snickering nastily._

_“Hey sugartits, ya lost?”_

 

 

### 39\. The Love Club

 

 

The second you step into the hallway your room is in, you know you’re going to have to be very, very careful over the next three days. If the foyer had been heaven with its golden décor, marble statues, ceiling fresco and posh glitz, the Economy wing is… purgatory. The walls of the narrow corridor are covered in graffiti, dried blood and various other unidentifiable stains, the water-damaged wallpaper is billowing and torn from claw-marks and knife-slashes. One of the latter is still stuck up to the hilt in the solid concrete wall. There’s only two lightbulbs working along the entire hallway, the rest either seconds from sputtering out or already smashed to pieces. Your tabi-shoes crunch on broken glass and debris with every other step.

As if a switch is suddenly flipped inside of you, your entire demeanor changes; the lifetime spent surviving in one of the most brutal cities known to man surfacing after being somewhat asleep for the last week and few days, ever since Wingdings had literally thrown you before the hounds to do his obscure bidding. In the split of a second you have drawn the throwing knives from their hidden sheaths in your sleeves, keeping them ready in one hand while the other one that’s clutching the suitcase estimates its weight and how best to use it as a weapon or shield in case of an attack. Your ears immediately pick up the noises of people from behind the many doors you walk past, always expecting one of them to fly open and spit out an assailant coming for your life. Within two steps your entire body is prepared for a fight as if you had never left the gang or the streets of South City. It wouldn’t even have surprised you if Sans suddenly appeared right in front of you; you were ready for anything.

But nothing happens, despite the sounds of breaking furniture and loud fights from the other rooms, and eventually Brutus stops his swaying steps in front of a door, turning around to you. You had been keeping an eye on the numbers, most of them knocked down, and have already stopped yourself when you saw the 23 on the door, heckles rising in a silent reminder from your instincts to never stop moving in an unfamiliar, hostile environment! The mute bellhop groans long and hollowly again, one of his meaty hands, forced into too small white gloves, reaching out for you in agonizing slow motion. You hold yours out as well and he drops a single, rusty key into your palm.

     “Thanks.” You mutter and move to open the door but he stays right in front of it, empty eyes resting on your mask, and his hand slowly turns over until it’s facing palm up. Another, shorter groan. _Demanding_. You raise your brow behind the mask. _Seriously?!_ With a suppressed growl you stuff the key into your jacket and finger one of the hidden pockets inside open to take out a few bills from your emergency stash you had replenished since the robbery of the jeweler in Hatsville. You smack the cash into his waiting paw, repeating: “ _Thanks_ , Brutus.”

Audibly pleased with the tip, Brutus moans and shuffles back down through the hallway. You pepper his broad back with dagger-glares but doubt that one of your knives would actually be enough to pierce his fat neck and sever the spinal cord, so you turn around with a huff and take the key out of your pocket to inspect it and the lock itself. An incredulous snort escapes you. “Tch… might actually be a lot safer if I left the door wide open so I can see the bastard that’s coming to cut my throat! What a shit-hole! Thanks a lot, boss.” You grouse, grinding your teeth. This had to be a joke!

Still, you double-lock the door behind you when you’re inside and check the room with a suspicious glare. Which soon turns into a disgusted sneer. The tiny hotel room is filthy and water stained like the hallway outside. You had seen and slept in poorhouses that were way nicer than _this_! The ceiling light promptly goes out with a small explosion when you flip the switch, but you’re actually glad the room is left in a twilight – that micro second of harsh illumination had showed you more than you were ready to stomach.

You make an extra-wide step over the dead rat right in front of you and look around, your jaws tensing in reluctance with every new unidentifiable stain you spot on the walls as your night vision adjusts to the gloom. The rickety bed under the tiny, dust-caked window seems too fragile to even withstand your flyweight. Not that you were going to sleep in it; the mattress is all but dripping with filth, the rusty springs jutting out from it more suited to be forged into weapons than provide comfortable support for your back. Your eyes follow the countless spotted trails of bedbug-droppings into the shadow beneath the death-trap. Any living thing foolish enough to bed their head here at night was likely going to wake up with a serious case of blood loss the next day.

    “Yeah, _no_.” You scoff, already turning in one place to find an alternative place to sleep. You had slept in hellholes like this before, and even your first ten years or so running with Sans' gang hadn’t been exactly on par with common hygiene standards, but Frisk and you had made an effort to keep your shared room in the attic clean and free of pests, so you would be damned if you let yourself get bitten by another single one of those monsters in your life! Suddenly you catch yourself actually growing really upset over this situation and that jerks you out of it for a second, your eyes widening in shock.

 _Oh my God, don’t tell me living in a mansion for barely more than a week pampered me enough to make me become spoiled?!,_ you think, and take a second look around the room. Sure, it was filthy and smelled gross, and there was definitely more mold on the walls than wallpaper, but you had lived in worse circumstances already and not just for three days. You wouldn’t die from staying here! And yet, you already miss your soft, silk-lined, giant bed in Blackhat’s manor, the plush carpet and most of all your luxurious bathroom… speaking off: _Oh God_ -

You push the door to the smallest bathroom in the world open with the tip of your shoe, holding your breath in dire apprehension. With the same shoe you flip the light switch next to it. A swarm of cockroaches flees in a mad dash from the sudden light, the scraping sounds of their scuttling legs and wings drowned out by a reluctant, self-pitying whine and it takes you a second to realize it is your own. Not only have you become spoiled, you’ve gone downright soft!

Ignoring the nagging voice in your head, you pull the door shut again and put both hands on your hips, drumming an agitated rhythm with two fingers, thoughts racing to make _something_ out of this shitty hand you got dealt. The bed's a no-go, obviously. But if you kept the light on in the bathroom you could at least banish the roaches to the shadows under the (dripping) sink and sleep in the tub, once you scrubbed it a bit less nasty, that is. Now you wish you had packed more clothes you could have used as bedding. But you can always go out and steal some more sheets from the hotel’s laundry. If they even have something like that.

A sudden crash from next door makes you cower down in a battle-ready crouch, knives drawn, heart beat jacked up. Every muscle is tensed as you listen to the ensuing commotion and shouts, but then the noise dies down again without anyone punching a hole through the paper thin wall. Looks like you won’t be getting a lot of sleep in here anyway.

Time to prepare for the worst.

 

-

 

A feeling of cold dread is your only warning before Lord Blackhat materializes in the middle of your hotel room not a second later. He takes a moment to look around the filthy space before he turns and raises his gaze to where you’re sitting legs crossed on top of the wobbly wardrobe, the heavy Bowie knife resting on your knee. A thin brow is cocked at you in silent questioning but you just glare down at him, feeling your simmering anger coming to a violent boil. You had opted to simply stay put until he’d show his face again, since he hadn’t bothered to tell you what the agenda was for the day.

    “Boss…” you grind out between clenched jaws, wrath making you shake on the dresser when a mean grin splits his face apart. The moldy wood groans beneath you.

    “All settled in, I hope?” he purrs and that does it; you catapult yourself off the wardrobe, landing right before him and pulling the hood and mask off your head to hiss into his face: “You got that right you cheap fuck! Bet you’re getting a good laugh out of this, huh?!”

Entirely unimpressed by your fury, Blackhat makes a face.

    “Bah, I don’t even want to think about what they are going to charge me for this hovel the night! How utterly wasteful.” He replies, genuine regret in his raspy voice. Your mouth falls open in irritated confusion.

    “What?! Then why the hell did you even give me a room for myself and not just let me stay in that fancy-ass Imperial Suite that probably has a giant bed you won’t be using anyway?! Are you shitting me-!”

Before you can even blink he has slapped you, shutting you up in an instant. Completely stunned, you take a step back and raise a hand to your burning cheek. Blackhat frowns at you, one side of his mouth lifting into a snarl.

    “And risk being subjected to a flood of scandal-rumors that would damage _my_ reputation? I think _not_. You will stay in this room, as much as it pains me to pay for it. I thought you would welcome some privacy anyway.” Now his grin returns and he bows his head slightly to stare at you from the shadow of his hat. “Don’t think just because you get to enjoy the privilege of our little arrangement on the side from time to time that you’re suddenly entitled to skip some steps on the social ladder of villains without having to work for it. But enough of this, since we are here on official business, it’s high time you learned your purpose during this congregation. Sit.”

You scowl at him and take a few more quick steps back to get out of his immediate striking distance, before you cross your arms and pointedly lean back against the groaning dresser, nodding your chin at the dirty mattress with a smirk

    “Wouldn’t be polite of me to take the only seat in this room. After you.” He ignores the bed and your jab, and steeples his hands in front of him.

    “This evening will start the convention with a grand gala and ball. You will make use of that pomp and circumstance and steal something from every single person in that room.” Blackhat reveals. You shrug.

    “Doesn’t sound overly complicated. What’s the _catch_?” You ask, expecting literally everything at this point. He takes a second to just grin at you.

    “You will need something that properly disguises you among the guests.” – “I thought that’s what the mask is for?” you parrot his own words spitefully. This time you actually see him move and jerk up your arm. His hand wraps around your fist that’s clutching the Bowie knife in front of your face, applying precise pressure to the tips of your fingers until you hiss at the pain. He’s got you pinned against the dresser, but at least you managed to block his disciplinary measure this time.

    “If you don’t seize being this impertinent I will show you an entirely new dimension of pain.” Your boss growls lowly, clearly at the end of his patience. With a shove he releases you, his face a lot less ecstatic now that you successfully grinded his gears. _Good_. “Of course you are going to get recognized if you wear the same mask as in the commercial. Which is why you will alter it.” He pauses, expecting you to throw something in again no doubt, but you keep your lips firmly pressed together, refusing to give him any more cruel satisfaction. Blackhat pulls a moue, obviously he had wanted another excuse to torment you. “As you might have already discovered, the mask reacts to your intentions, so you may change its appearance however you desire. Just keep it classy. And maybe try to make it match _this_ :”

He waves his arm around in a wide arch, procuring a black piece of clothing from thin air. You give it one look and recoil from the outfit, banging your head against the dresser door.

    “No! No fucking way, Blackhat! If you think I’m going to put _that_ on you are beyond delusional! _No_!” Well, he had threatened to put you into a ball gown fit for a queen on multiple occasions now, hadn’t he? The dress your sadistic boss pulled from literal nothingness is of a black so deep you can’t see any folds or irregularities in the fabric. Except for the thick seam of ruffles, which run in a spiral from the right shoulder along the back to the left side over a crested collar before they line the entire hem of the tight fitting dress that flares out at the knees into a ridiculously long train, where the frilly ruffles go over into softer waves. And of course there’s a pair of black high heels waiting next to your suitcase now to go with the dress, along with a slender pair of long satin gloves.

It’s nothing you’d ever wear, never wanted to wear! This is no ball-gown, it’s a nightmare come to life! Blackhat shakes the dress a little, a wide grin on his face.

    “It’s perfect for you, I had it made with more pockets and hidden compartments than you could ever fill!” You shake your head viciously, pressing more against the dresser that bends dangerously under your weight.

    “I’m not wearing this. No way in Hell. Forget it!”

His face contorts in rage and he takes a menacing step towards you.

    “You _will_ wear this gown and if I have to put it on you myself, my stubborn little thief! It’s either the dress, or-" he snaps the fingers of his free hand. With a cold puff of air your clothes vanish. All of them – even your underwear – and the cursed mask that had been hidden in your leather jacket clatters to the floor. “You will have to complete your mission _naked_. I doubt you’re going to be successful like this. Only in making me laugh and have a merry old time watching you embarrass yourself.”

You cross your arms in front of your bare chest; not to hide your nudity from him but to further demonstrate your utter reluctance and defiance.

    “Can’t I just wear my own clothes, please? I’m not- this isn’t _me_! I’m not going to make a clown out of myself by wearing something like this! I’ll be so uncomfortable it’s going to ruin my mojo! Plus, I can’t even  _work_ like this, I’m gonna trip over this stupid thing every second step!” Blackhat bares his teeth anew in a snarl, but then he tilts his head and looks you over from head to toe. His free hand lifts from his side again, palm facing you.

    “ _Tell me the real reason you’re refusing the dress.”_

His voice is like a spell that tears your head open and makes the words come out on their own, words you don’t want to say out loud and yet you can’t make them stop.

    “I feel self-conscious about the scars on my body.” You mumble faintly, your hands digging into your skin trying to keep the confession inside. But he won’t let you. “I don’t want them to see. They make me look weak. Like I’m broken. Like I’m everyone’s punching bag.” Blackhat’s grin gains a touch of sardonicism but he lowers his hand.

    “Is that all my dear? How _pathetic_! If anything you should wear them with pride, with vanity, with _wrath_ for vengeance!” While saying this he stalks closer to you, the dress floating in one place as he lets go off it. You tense immediately when he raises his hands to rest them on your shoulders before running gloved fingers down your arms in a feather-light touch, lingering on each scar, burn-mark and gnarled patch of skin in their path. “After all, they tell the story of your unbreakable spirit. Now then…” he makes a come hither motion over his shoulder and the dress slowly floats closer, like an actual ghost. Even at the risk of getting brutalized, you shake your head again.

    “I’m not gonna wear it.”

Blackhat’s expression freezes for the split of a second in bafflement, but then a grin so vile parts his face that your heart stops for a solid beat, a horrible misgiving seizing your mind. Oh, you certainly are in for it now. This was actually worse than if he had exploded on you.

    “Oh, the marks _I’m_ going to leave on you will make for a marvelous piece of art. But not now, you still have a job to do. _Dressed_ for the occasion.” His monocle flashes a bright red and the floating dress _lunges_ at you, your startled yelp getting muffled by layers of chiffon, silk and satin, and when the struggle is over, the dress sticks to you like a second skin, no matter how hard you pull on it. The fabric feels soft like water and yet it hugs your body so tightly you feel your face going up in flames at the mental image of how you must look right now. Fortunately there’s no big mirror in here like in your room back in the mansion, you’re dead sure that seeing your reflection might have actually made you scream out loud. Grinding your teeth in helpless rage, you glare at Blackhat and stop trying to rip the cursed piece of clothing off of you.

He’s eyeing you with such hunger in his expression that you have to swallow against the sickening lump in your throat, his single eye raking over your form so unrestrained it’s palpable. And not in a good way.

    “Perfect…” your boss husks, rubbing his chin. “I knew this would suit you much better than your usual, rugged ensemble.” You avert your gaze and cross your arms again, defeated.

    “Why do I have to get dolled up for a job?! I’m not gonna be able to _sell_ this look successfully, okay? I don’t know what kind of villain you want me to be but this is _not_ going to work for me!”

He makes another repulsed face, retorting: “Don’t tell me you would prefer to continue running around like a disheveled, lowlife thug from the gutter instead!” You shrug at his appalled tone and smirk yourself.

    “Why the hell not? Seems to be working pretty well for Dementia.” You throw in, watching a strange expression cross his face, a mixture of regret and amusement perhaps.

    “Dementia is only a henchman, and she will never be anything more than a henchman, never a villain of her own. I made sure of that.” Suddenly you remember that he had meant to tell you about how Dem came to work for him, but before you can even take a breath to bring that up, Blackhat already continues, now turning his back on you, hands folded behind him in his usual poise.

    “Dementia used to be an assassin, sent to kill me by a rivaling company that was trying to take over the market. Unsuccessfully of course. Her raw strength, even back then a sight to behold, impressed me. So instead of disposing of her, I allowed Flug to experiment on her and had him brainwash her to be a loyal slave to my organization. Alas, our good doctor was only in possession of his degree for barely a month, and the process… did not go over as smoothly as I had expected it to. The result you have experienced for yourself: a psychopathic human/lizard hybrid with exceptional physical prowess, yet helplessly bound to me by this obscene, deranged obsession of hers. Even if I allowed her to become her own ultimate villain, she would refuse freedom only to stay close to me.”

You stare at the back of his hat, mouth open in speechlessness.

    “Can’t you… I dunno, fix her brain?! You’re… well, you!” You point out. Blackhat throws you a pointed look across his shoulder.

    “And why would I possibly do that when I make so much money with the way she is now?! I can always count on her to finish the job with a _please_ and _thank you_ , while she demands nothing in return. And all it costs me is to endure her antics, which at times can be quite amusing. So, no, I won’t change her back anytime soon.”

    “What about that company she was from? Are they here as well?” you ask then, worried they might target you, being a lot less powerful than he is, if they became aware of your connection to Blackhat and the BHO. You know Blackhat wouldn’t waste money on a ransom. He turns back around to you, his evil grin already giving his answer away.

    “Oh no. The first order I gave to Dementia – after _get the hell off of me!_ – was to return to her boss and slaughter everyone in their organization. This way I could test her strength, stomp out my competition, and see whether the brainwashing had been successful at least. Which it was, and still is. Speaking of orders… let’s talk about yours for tonight.”

You vent a sigh but nod anyway, seeing as there really is no way out of this for you. Blackhat reaches into his black coat and procures a small leaflet that he holds out to you. “Your ticket into the ballroom; I took the liberty to forge one for you instead of making you find your own way in. But this is already all the advantage I’m willing to give you! Once inside, you have six hours to steal something from every guest present, understood? I _will_ know if you were successful. The consequences should you fail are going to be… beyond dire, my little thief. Keep that in mind.” His grin turns into a feral baring of too huge teeth and you nod again, harder this time.

    “Sure thing, boss. How do I get to that ballroom?”

    “Just up the stairs in the main hall. I leave it up to you to decide when to arrive, but it’s usually advised to be fashionably late. Now then, I shall leave you to your preparations.” He lifts his hat to you, revealing the bowler hat underneath that still makes you smirk a little. You already relax at the prospect of finally having him out of your hair, when your boss takes a sudden, unexpected step towards you, lifting your chin up with a finger, his gaze half-lidded. “Don’t make me regret to have spared your life that night you were thrown before my feet. I can still take your soul whenever I want, ______.” His threat is uttered softly, but you know he means every word of it. On a peculiar notion, you shrug and rest the back of your head against the dresser you’re still pressing into, exposing your throat.

   “Then please, by all means, go ahead. I don’t care anymore.” You deadpan. Blackhat chuckles darkly, the thumb of his hand still under your chin stretching up to stroke over your bottom lip.

    “Ah, how many times have I told you not to lie to me, my dear ______? You might be telling yourself that you don’t care if you live or die. But you don’t actually want to die. Your first instinct was to defend yourself with tooth and nails when I went for you in the lounge, and not lay back to finally embrace the sweet oblivion of death. Oh no, you’re still clinging to life like a starved tick to a rat, like a drowning man to his fellow sailor to save his own hide. Unlike your Frisk who tried to end their life with real intent and determination.”

    “Y-you know about that, too?!” It shouldn’t really surprise you at this point, but that memory was so personal, so painful to remember, that it feels terrible to think someone else would know about what happened between you and Frisk that awful night. But what’s even more concerning… “Um… are you angry that I saved their life?” He had to be. Of all the things you did, saving Frisk's life _twice_ was probably the most _heroic_ thing you ever did! Yet Blackhat grins.

    “Not at all! What could be more evil than denying someone wanting so desperately to die their only wish?! To tear them away from the salvaging cliff and force them to continue living a life that brings them nothing but suffering and pain, only because you refuse to let them go in peace?!” Drool runs from his mouth once again as the thought visibly excites him. “I would have applauded your selfish action had I been present, my rotten little thief! I look forward to seeing you tonight.” And with that he releases you and disappears in thin air. Yet despite being free to move, you stay glued to the dresser in debilitating self-loathing, shaking in your ball-gown.

From the shadows, Blackhat watches another tiny fleck of light within your SOUL getting swallowed by darkness, and he hums to himself in satisfaction. This was already proving much more successful than he had ever anticipated. Now it wouldn’t be all that long until you were ready to fully, truly succumb to your inner corruption. And he would he there to watch you emerge a villain.

 

-

 

Once the watch reads 8 pm you stuff it into one of the pockets within the folds of your dress and take a few deep breaths. You were ready. Well, as ready as you could be, feeling absolutely out of character in this getup and already sensing a wave of panic clawing at the edge of your brain, waiting to pull your mind under when you were least expecting it.

Nope, you were _not_ ready at all!!

But it was high time you got to the gala and start working or hell would swallow you whole most likely! You didn’t know how many guests would be attending the ball or how in the world you were supposed to carry everything in the hidden pockets without getting caught! Granted, the dress was as amazing as it was uncomfortable for you to wear it. Blackhat hadn’t lied when he said that it was made for you; you had never expected to find this many hidden pockets so expertly sown into this tight fitting thing. You were even able to smuggle a few knives along underneath it. Hopefully you wouldn’t need them, but you never knew. For instance, there was still the matter of getting through the hallway back into the main hall in this outfit. Unscathed, preferably.

You pick up the mask from the yellowed sink and hold it in front of your face, trying to think of a way to change it and make it look _classy._ _Ugh_. Well, you had already managed to turn it black when you had first tried it on, so it had to work on your intention alone, right? Suddenly an image appears in your mind and before you know it, the white, tear-shaped mask transforms into just that image: a pitch black human skull that hides everything from your lower lip up, with a golden tooth right where Sans had his. Spurred on by your immediate success you begin to add details: a golden rim around the mask, in fact, make that golden details around the eye sockets, nose cavity and mouth as well! A fascinator grows out of one side, three layers of black lace forming a veil, adorned with long, wispy feathers, striped black and poisonous green like the quill Blackhat had given you to sign the contract. For a second you play with the thought of adding a small top hat, but the result looks anything but classy and you make it disappear again with a snicker. The black visor turns a gleaming red over the left eye, while the right cavity stays black, so dark that you would have a pretty decent night vision if the lights went out all of a sudden.

 _Now here’s an idea…_ you think to yourself and grin under the mask. Your reflection in the crusted mirror does the same and the gilded details glisten in the light. You realize you look _dangerous_ , but also pretty sexy - scars and all - and while you’re not really a fan of the latter, you feel confident enough to finally get out there and start a-hustling!

 

When you eventually open the door to your hotel room, the crowded hallway outside falls quiet in an instance, the loitering low-life criminals and other henchmen obviously not invited to the gala turning towards you in unison. They’re a surprisingly colorful bunch, most of them human but there are some of them that look more like aliens or demons, and are probably from some other dimensions. You return their wide-eyed stares calmly from the anonymous safety of your mask and start walking down the corridor irritatingly slow. One of them lets go off the shirt of the poor sod he had clearly been about to beat up, and raises himself to full height, snickering nastily.

    “Well would you look at that boys. Hey sugartits, ya lost? Don’t be shy, I ain’t gonna bite.” He lies with a wide grin, exposing crooked, black teeth. The rest of the underlings in the hall take up the vile snickering and move to block the path behind their leader, some in the back wolf-whistling at you. You walk up to the brute without a pause in your step, earning yourself more excited jeers and whistles. A guy next to him bumps his shoulder.

   “Oooh, she _likes_ you, Franky!”

Franky drags his filthy eyes over you from head to toe, licking his disgusting lips.

    “’Course she does. All the ladies like-"

Your speed takes them all off guard, and even yourself, since you had expected the tight dress to restrict your movements. But in the blink of an eye your blade sinks into Franky’s hefty gut, shutting him up with a shocked gasp. The other thugs jump away from you, immediately more trained on saving their own skin than to come to their buddy’s rescue. Which you had counted on. It was mandatory to instantly establish dominance and fear with scum like this to come out on top. And apparently you had done just that. Poor Franky howls out a shrill squeal and doesn’t fight back when you kick his feet out from under him and push him to the ground, sliding the knife out of his fat belly. But before you can leave the bastard to bleed out, a shockwave races through the hallway, making you jerk around in start, expecting Blackhat.

    “You filthy mongrels, I knew you would not be bright enough to remember the _one_ rule in this hotel!” Mr. Kean thunders as he steps out of the shadows, Brutus in tow, skewering each of them with a glare so fierce it wouldn’t have taken much to rival your boss’s very own. _Shit_ , had you already fucked up?! But when none of the henchmen say a word, his glare darts towards you, and he freezes, dark eyes widening behind his mask. You step away from the guy you just stabbed, clutching the knife tighter. Kean raises his hands in a deploring manner. “Miss, don’t you know we have a non-killing policy?” he utters, suddenly sounding way less aggressive. Fortunately your own mask hides your confusion as you point to Franky, who’s clutching his hands over his bleeding stomach, whimpering in pain.

    “Well, he’s not dead just yet. There’s still time to get him to a doctor.” You reply, matter-of-factly. Kean blinks and then smirks at you, casting a short glance to the man on the ground.

    “I see. Of course you are absolutely correct, Milady.” _What- Milady?!,_ you think in perplexed stun. He snaps his fingers twice. “Brutus, take care of this. And you all,” he adds furiously towards the by standing thugs, “if you’re not out of my sight in ten seconds I will have you lot thrown out!” The crowd scatters in a wink. Once you’re alone, and Brutus has dragged the bleeding and crying Franky down the hallway, Mr. Kean bows slightly to you. You’re still so taken aback by this crass change in his demeanor you just nod silently at him.

    “I must apologize for my more than rude entrance, but this is clearly no place for someone like you, Miss. May I escort you back to your suite?” You realize he doesn’t seem to recognize you but is instead mistaking you for an actual guest, and change gears quickly, your con-artist reflexes thankfully kicking in without a hitch.

    “Oh Mr. Kean, you don’t know how glad I am to see you!” you breathe out in the sweetest, trembling voice you can manage, folding your free hand over your chest and pulling the foraged invitation out from the pocket hidden within the dense ruffles of your neckline. “I just got terribly lost trying to find the ballroom, this hotel is just so vast! It- it’s my first time attending this congregation. It’s sort of my debut night, you know.” You add shyly and Mr. Kean visibly melts away under his mask, tutting softly. “I was about to go back to the foyer when these awful, awful thugs cornered me! I- I simply had to defend myself! I apologize if I caused you any trouble, sir.”

    “Nonsense, my dear! It is I who must apologize; goodness what you must think of this establishment! Of course I shall accompany you to the ballroom myself.” He holds out his arm to you, and you take it with a bright smile. On the way to the ballroom, Kean grovels like a kicked dog, apologizing a thousand times more and assuring you over and over that nothing like this were to happen again, on his honor! You endure the barrage of eulogies with mild leniency, patting his arm, even though you’re tempted to have that asshole make even more of an ass of himself for treating you exactly like those henchmen when you hadn’t been in this getup. Plus, it angered you that Blackhat’s plan to disguise you was obviously working to a T.

At the grand double-winged door, Kean bows deeply to you and opens the door himself, ushering you inside with another flourish.

    “I wish you the best of luck for your debut, miss…” He pauses inquisitively and now you smirk as you step past him.

    “Call me Ghost, Mr. Kean. Just Ghost.”

He blinks rapidly, the door slipping from his grasp in start.

    “Ghost? Wait- but didn’t I hear that name-" Before he can finish the sentence, the door falls shut behind you.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to hit the dance floor, baby!
> 
>  **Next Update on the 16th of February** (Yes it's a day earlier so I can live stream that one as well!)


	40. Sway, Sway With Me, Suavemente

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made something special for this chapter! For the **first** part, listen to **Sway by Michelle Buble** , for the **second** part listen to **Sway With Me by Saweetie** and the **final** part is **Suavemente by Elvis Crespo**. I highly, highly recommend you listen to those songs, they’re basically what inspired me for this chapter!!
> 
> Also check out the dramatic reading on my twitch! twitch.tv/thetruemek

_Tus labios tienen ese secreto; yo beso y beso, y no lo encuentro. Un beso suave es lo que anhelo, un beso tuyo es lo que quiero._

 

 

### 40\. Sway, Sway With Me, Suavemente

 

 

When you enter the vast, brightly lit ballroom, you immediately realize that none of the present guests even noticed you come inside, contrary to your worries. They all have their backs turned to you, staring at the same spot somewhere underneath the giant crystal chandelier in the center of the room, murmuring in hushed voices over the music that’s playing. Classic dance music. You shudder and make a face. At least you would be too busy looting than having to embarrass yourself trying to dance.

In fact, the gala guests are all so mesmerized by whatever’s happening in the middle of the big room that they don’t even seem to take any notice of what’s going on around them. You strike immediately, skulking along behind their backs, your hands slipping into pockets, gliding over cuffs and wrists, picking random item after item off of those in the last rows while you swiftly circle the room, entirely unseen and unnoticed. _Like an actual ghost!_ , you think, your heart pounding in hectic excitement. This was even easier than you had thought!

You stick to small objects; jewelry, tie-pins, watches, even a silver fountain pen you pick right out of someone’s breast pocket, things that wouldn’t immediately be missed and possibly cause an uproar before you were done here. To keep track of who you’ve already picked, you cut a tiny hole into their clothes at roughly the same height, too small to be noticed by anyone else yet standing out to your keen eyes unmistakably, and moreover it would be palpable in the dark. The closer you get to the front of the crowd, the more you pick up their hushed whispers, sometimes sounding deeply disturbed and frightened, but the majority of them are uttered in awe and reverence. The music is still dramatic and sensual, and you remember having heard a similar type of music when you had snuck into an expensive nightclub once in South City, to do exactly what you were doing now. Wingdings had told you later that it was called a tango. _Someone must be cutting up a mean floor over there_ , you think to yourself, and when you hear the shrill scream of a woman, followed by a loud, collective gasp from the guests, your curiosity finally prevails and you elbow your way through the crowd.

Once you’ve managed to slip all the way to the front row through the densely packed throng of people - also comprised of humans, monsters and aliens - and you finally get a good look at the dance floor, your mouth falls open in absolute shock. The one responsible for this mass-bedevilment is – how could it be any different – non other than your boss! Dressed in a black coat with tails and a blood red inner lining, a strange looking flower on his revere, dark gray pants and an elaborately decorated green vest over a white silk shirt. Instead of the top hat he’s wearing a black gambler hat with the signature red hat band. He looks outrageously _good_!

Just now Blackhat dips his partner, a gorgeous woman of middle age dressed in a carmine colored gown with a cleavage that reaches down to her navel, all the way to the floor until her hair touches the tiles, a seductive grin on his ashen face, and even from where you’re standing you can see that he’s having a blast. He bends closely over her, his giant teeth parting right next to her neck, and you tense in alarm, but then he just whispers something into her ear and the woman goes limp in his arms as she faints with fluttering lashes. Blackhat laughs resoundingly and rights himself up, leaving the unconscious dame on the marble tiles like a piece of roadkill. A man quickly darts over to her from the crowd and lifts her up, carrying the faintly babbling woman off the dance floor. The music picks up again and Blackhat whirls around with another excited grin, his single eye traveling over the remaining guests, no doubt looking for his next unfortunate victim. Yet all the women next to you immediately make a show of presenting themselves, throwing the eldritch abomination kisses and stupid little waves with their fingers, basically desperately begging him to dance with them while still trying to maintain some illusion of decency. Suddenly his gaze falls on you, where it stays, and the grin turns sharp as a razor.

 _Shit! No, no, no, no, not me!_ You try frantically to push back through the people behind you and get away, but now the mesmerized guests are like a brick wall, not moving an inch to let you pass. Okay, to be fair, they might actually be frozen in mortal fear because Blackhat himself is stalking right towards them! Trapped like that you just shake your head in a last, futile attempt to try and stop him, but of course he just grins even wider and comes ever closer, already reaching out a gloved hand to-

    “May I have this dance, my dear?” He rasps out, his serpent tongue flicking through the air on the _this_ , and the girl next to you almost falls over her heels as she lunges forward to clutch the hand he holds out to her, a hysteric panting escaping from her heaving bosom. He pulls her back onto the dance floor with him in one smooth motion and you feel lightheaded from a sudden surge of violent heat that starts in the pit of your stomach and flies up to your head, where it stays in your jaws and neck, filling your muscles to grind your teeth and get ready to bite, to-

_I’m going to fucking kill this bitch!!_

You don’t even have the rationality left to fight the wave of jealousy and rage that suddenly crashes over you. If before you had experienced it as a rusty corkscrew, the sensation is now more an industrial hammer drill that’s burying itself in your gut and comes out at your back. You had been right _there_! He had looked at _you_ first! Your hands are balled into white-knuckled fists inside the black gloves and you’re trembling all over in anger. What you don’t see is that every other woman around you is doing pretty much the same thing, some of them hissing vile curses while others run their fingers over razor sharp stiletto knives. Blackhat twirls his chosen one around and pulls her obscenely close to his body in the next long step back, eye glued to hers. She’s positively putty in his hands and it makes you want to vomit. In fact, it makes you want to drink yourself into a _coma_ to forget you ever had to feel this humiliated! With a violent shove you carve a path through the frozen guests, haphazardly snatching more shit from them as you plow through the crowd. Someone tries to grab your hand but you jerk free and kick against his kneecap with the sharp heel of your ridiculous shoes, the ensuing sound of pain music in your ears. The second you emerge from the spellbound mass you scan the vast room for a bar or a servant boy with a tray full of champagne, the desire for hard liquor rearing its ugly, yet compelling, head.

On the opposite side of the ballroom you do find a bar set up, countless villains already slumped over the counter in drunk unconsciousness. A couple of gargoyle-like creatures in ill-fitting smokings is having a heated discussion over something in a snarling language you don't understand a word of, but they fall silent once you step up to the bar, eyeing you with a lot more than merely intrigue. You ignore them, awkwardly clamber onto the bar stool and grind through your teeth: “Absinthe. Make it a double.” The bartender regards you with a raised brow, glances over to the dancefloor and then looks back at you with a knowing, somewhat pitifully crooked smile.

    “Don’t beat yourself up over it, sweetheart. He does that every time he actually bothers to show up. Makes my night a whole lot harder to serve all those pretty ladies he rejected.” He says, maybe in an effort to make you feel better, but it does little to smother the wildfire raging in your guts.

    “Uh-huh.” You grunt and snatch the high, tulip-shaped glass out of his hand, knocking the green liquor back in one go before he can stop you.

    “Geez, lady, you’re supposed to dilute that stuff! If you pass out I ain’t helpin' ya! Shit!” he exclaims in shock but you have already turned away from him, burning glare fixed on your boss, who’s already chosen yet another lucky broad instead of you to twirl around and pull close to him.

    “Fucking asshat… I’m so gonna ruin his night!” you hiss out, clutching the glass tighter. It was time you got serious! And you knew just how to do it right.

A hand comes down on your shoulder and spins you around on the stool. Your vision is suddenly filled out by a pale face with a silver Mohawk and a blue mask, and the sight is actually almost enough to replace your fury with another, greater feeling of utter repulsion.

    “Why helloooo hot stuff! I like your mask, very uh… sexy! Drinking all by yourself pretty girl? Welp, guess it’s _your_ lucky night!” Dark Phantom purrs with a lewd grin. Of course _he_ would be here of all the other villains you knew by now. You smile back at him under the skull mask that thankfully hides your features from him.

    “Guess it is!” and with that you smash the empty glass into his face and jump off the stool in the same motion, pushing the bleeding asshole back against the counter with one hand that you pointedly wipe on your dress afterwards. Under raucous laughter from the gargoyles and howls of pain from Dark Phantom, you strut out of the ballroom and down the grand staircase, eyes peeled for Mr. Kean or Brutus, but fortunately none of them show up.

 _I’ve had enough of being nothing more than a gopher and a show pony and getting nothing out of it but pain and humiliation…_ you think grimly, cracking your knuckles through the velvet gloves. _Time to play by my own rules!_ The manager had said that the non-killing rule was the only one in this hotel, so everything else probably wouldn’t make him appear on the scene. When you were running a fancy hotel for villains and criminals, you couldn’t possibly hope to suddenly make them follow rules or behave in a civilized manner. And with the way your blood is boiling right now, you wouldn’t give one shit about anything other than thoroughly and savagely crashing this stupid ball and complete your mission successfully, while also cramping Blackhat’s style!

You storm down the hallway where you encountered the low lives and hammer against the first door you come across, keeping a knife ready. The door is yanked open immediately and a demon-like creature emerges, a bovine skull for a head with tiny, red glowing lights in the eye sockets. He takes one look at you and promptly tries to shut the door again, yelling “Aw hell no!” yet you had anticipated that and use your shoulder to throw yourself against the cracking wood and body-slam it open, knocking the demon to the floor. He scrambles up on his hands and quickly crawls away from you.

    “Not you again, you crazy bitch! I ain’t looking for trouble so piss off!” He flinches when you come closer with the knife glinting, raising a clawed hand to fend you off. “H- hey! You think you can just fuck us up because we’re only subordinates, huh?! Well, you pompous super-villains or whatever you arrogant assholes call yourself wouldn’t be half as successful without us! And yet you treat us like shit! It ain’t right!”

    “Are you done you crybaby?” you scoff once he shuts up, and point towards you. “I’m still a henchman myself. A lackey. A _bitch_. So you don’t need to tell me that shit, okay?” He looks you up and down and even though he doesn’t have any facial expressions, the message is unmistakable. You throw him a smirk and gesture down your  dress. “Oh this? This is just a disguise to get me into the ballroom. Worked with Kean, didn’t it? Bastard escorted me right up to the door because I know how to play the part.” He has nothing to say to that so you continue: “Room's crammed with those arrogant assholes, and they’re packing some _serious_ loot.” You make a few diamond-earrings and other jewelry appear in your other hand without giving away the location of your hidden pockets. “There’s still more where that came from.” The demon-guy's eyes flare up in greed.

    “Shit… ya really wanna go up there again? Those are _villains_ , it ain’t gonna take long till they know whassup. But if ya wanna get yourself thrown out into space, go for it. Ya fucking stabbed Franky!” he adds, accusing. You cluck your tongue and sigh.

    “Yeah, well. See, he was in my _way_ and I don’t take kindly to strangers who try to mess with me. Or anyone for that matter. And you, my friend, didn’t seem too keen on rescuing poor Franky either, or telling him to better not mess with the crazy bitch walking down the hallway.” You point out. The bloke seems to have come to the conclusion that you might not be out to kill him for sports, and relaxes a little, waving you off.

    “Nah, fuck that. Frank’s an asshole. An I’m not your friend, missy. Name's Belor. I’d say it’s nice to meet ya but to be honest it’s not.”

    “Call me Ghost.” You reply, watching his glowing eyes narrowing.

    “Hey, wait… didn’t I hear that name before…”

    “So whaddya say, Belor,” you quickly interrupt him and toss one piece of diamond bling into his lap. “You want in on that? Rough those cunts up a bit? Payback’s included.” Belor husks a hoarse chuckle.

    “Yeah an so's certain death you lunatic! What do ya think they’re gonna do to us if we crash their fancy ball, huh?! No fucking thank you. You’re on ya own.”

    “Oh so you’re okay with being the bitch for the rest of your life? Say please and thank you master? Grovel before them for no payment and a kick of gratitude? Tsk, you’re pathetic. I wouldn’t want a weak-ass bitch like you on my team anyway. Maybe the others won’t be such scaredy cats” You sneer and spin around on your heel, kicking the ridiculously long train of your dress back with your other foot. The sound of scrambling behind you makes you pause, tensing.

    “Hey! I’m Belor, the Scourge of the Burning Planes and I ain’t scared of nothin' ya hear me?!” You sense his movements behind you and wheel over your shoulder, grabbing his hand to twist his arm back and press the tip of your knife into the soft flesh under his armpit.

    “You seemed pretty scared of _me_ not that long ago.” You point out, digging the sharp blade just a little more into his skin. Belor the Scourge swallows thickly. “Think about it. They don’t expect an attack and I am going to make sure they won’t see you. Short circuits can happen in any place, right?” The demon slumps a little, his twisted arm shaking from the strain of keeping it up.

    “You know… I _am_ kinda tired of doing all the dirty work without as much as a thank you now and then. Aight, Miss Ghost, what’s your plan?” You release him and nudge your head towards the door.

    “Let’s form a union, Belor.”

 

 

Half an hour later you scrutinize the small army of rugged henchmen and lower thugs, even a few women among them who look just as mean and done as you feel, who are returning your gaze more than uneasy, but there’s a spark of excitement in their eyes as well. Belor had proven to be very competent in convincing them to join you, and the promise of payback did its own part to lure them out of their filthy rooms. Now you have a ragtag crew of your own that regards you in silent expectation. Belor turns to you and shrugs.

    “That’s all of ‘em, boss. What’s your plan?” he says and you flinch a little. This was the first time someone had called _you_ the boss for a change. And while it does feel incredibly empowering, you shake your head with a snort.

    “Shit, I’m not your boss. I’m not responsible for you and I won’t tell you what to do. I just had an idea and thought you’d want in on this; if you don’t want to do this you’re free to get back to your luxurious rooms for all I care.” That raises some angry growls among your peers. You smirk and raise your hands. “ I know, I probably don’t look the part, but I’m an evil henchman myself, just like you, and I’ve had my fair share of getting kicked around by those that call themselves _supervillains_. All I’m saying is that we should teach those arrogant assholes a lesson. I know you’re afraid of what they’re gonna do to us, and I am, too. Hell, I _know_ my boss is going to turn me into a bloody pulp if he catches me but I don’t _care_ anymore! I’m done with playing the servant, the henchman, the bitch!” You don’t have to play to sound convincing, your voice is trembling with real anger and the others nod in agreement, some muttering their assent. You take heart from that and point a hand down the hallway towards the main hall. “We deserve to be up there just as much as they do! But instead they give us these awful, dirty rooms to stay in and squabble amongst each other to not get beat up by the next frustrated subordinate that crosses our way! That’s what happened to Franky, and it would have happened to me if I wasn’t so incredibly sick of being kicked into the dirt! We have what it takes to be our own villains, guys!”

    “She’s right!” A huge freak with a blue mohawk roars out and punches his palm with a giant fist. “I’m twice the size of my boss, I could crack his skull with my thighs without using my hands! And yet he still orders me around and insults me like I’m stupid!” More concurring mutters, angrier already. You point at him.

    “That’s what I’m talking about! They drag us all the way to his place in outer space to throw a big ball and what do we get out of it? Oh, I know: we get to haul their luggage around and serve as their personal punching bags! I say _fuck that_! I say, let’s show them what happens once we’re done being abused! Who’s with me?!” The henchmen all break out in hoarse shouts, fists punching the stale air in fury. “I won’t tell you what to do and what not to, hell, you can go nuts, fellas! Be my guests! Go off the rails, kill some of them if you _really_ don’t care! They’re not better than you; they’re just rich assholes who managed to make you sell yourself short!”

    “But what if they fight back before we can do anything?” a timid voice throws in suddenly, and the speaker flinches when all eyes dart down to him. You blink. It was the scrawny guy Franky had been about to beat up before you stabbed him. Under everyone’s scrutiny like that the… dude (you couldn’t really describe him as much else, he was just a guy) pipes up defensively. “They’re still supervillains and most of them have crazy powers! I- I even heard that the owner of the Black Hat Organization is here, the- the one from those commercials!” his argument raises another, concerned round of mutters and you want to skewer the little flyspeck where he stands! But instead you scoff out loud, directing the villains' attention back to you.

    “Oh wow, way to go Debbie Downer! Did you really think I was going to let you charge through the front doors like some stupid-ass band of heroes?!” Debbie Downer shrinks away from the gleam of your red visor. “No, I know my strengths and weaknesses, and I already had a plan for a solo-trip before I thought about inviting you all for some fun: a blackout in the ballroom. While they are all still accustomed to the bright light of the chandelier, we will be prepared for darkness and able to sucker punch them! But I’ll need help to find the breaker and cut the power. Any volunteers?” Belor places a hand on your shoulder, what you allow without brushing him off immediately.

    “I know where the breaker-room is, found it on my way when I was done loading my boss’s wares into the storage room for the actual convention.” Suddenly you perk up at his words. Right, Blackhat had told you that this was supposed to be a convention where evil companies could showcase new assets or products…

    “What sort of wares? Anything we could use?” He just stares at you for a second but then his red gleaming eyes light up even more and he nods.

    “Of course! Fuck, you’re a lil genius, bo-, uh, Ghost. My boss fabricates all kinds of bombs an’ grenades. That’d make for a nice entrance.”

You grin. It would be absolute chaos, but if you were the one who kept a leveled head, your job was as good as done. Some of your little army might actually die tonight, but you had not forced them to follow your lead or lied to them about what was going to happen. It _was_ their call, after all.

    “Alright, lessgo, gang!”

  

-

 

Blackhat lets his single eye wander over the buzzing crowd of high class villains for the umpteenth time and his brow furrows even deeper when he still doesn’t spot you among the guests. A quick scan with his other senses confirms that you are, indeed, not in the ballroom. Immediately his anger stirs. He had not expected you to actually dare to slack off on a job this important! Then again, the sheer force of your jealous rage when he snubbed you during the dance had been almost strong enough to taste it in the air, and apparently you had left to wallow in that rage in peace. He chuckles to himself. Maybe he had overdone it just a little bit.

    “Whatever has you so amused, my Lord?” comes a fluting voice from his right side, the hand in the crook of his elbow giving his arm a squeeze, demanding attention. Blackhat tries his best not to openly snarl at the woman clutching his arm like a trophy, the putrid aroma of her pride and gloating to have beaten her numerous competition to this an affront to his senses. Her soul was just as repulsive, depraved and bland, not even worth the effort to remove it from her mortal carcass. Instead of exterminating the bothersome pest with a thought, he slips back into his disguise of the perfect gentleman and bows his head to his more than irritating attachment.

    “Ah, just a little _ghost_ , my dear. Forgive my rude inattention. May I invite you to a drink on your health?” He shoots her a grin and revels in the flash of fear crossing her eyes before she giggles inanely and pats his chest, making his mouth want to curl in annoyance.

    “Oh, Lord Blackhat, you _fiend_! Of course you may.” She adds with a breathless sigh, her heavily painted eyes fluttering. His grin widens into a sharp edge as he already ushers her along to the bar. With just a little bit of charming he would finally be rid of this hag and able to whip his little thief back to work!

    “Now, what is your poison of choice, dearest?” he rasps, and she answers, but he doesn’t hear it, his other senses suddenly picking up the familiar thrum of a soul too rebellious for its own good. And apparently it’s not alone. “Interesting…” he utters. The woman in front of him blinks, her cheeks flushing a spotted red.

    “You think so? I- I always thought it wasn’t that special a-"

With a loud snap the crystal chandelier snuffs out, as does every other light in the ballroom. Screams of start and confusion already ring out in the pitch black darkness that is but a soft twilight to his eye. At the same time the double doors to the staircase are thrown open, as well as both sides of the French windows leading out onto the balcony, spilling out lesser villains and henchmen who immediately attack, armed to the teeth with devices and weaponry clearly meant for the convention. The lady by his side screams shrilly and tries to cling to his arm, but Blackhat simply makes himself as catchable as smoke, and he leans back against the counter, deaf to her cries of confused dismay, summoning himself a tall glass of pure absinthe to go along with the ambush attack ensuing in the sacred ballroom. His eye follows the swift movements of a lithe being that weaves through the fighting villains like a shadow, as unseen as a ghost, slender hands seizing riches with dream-like instincts while dodging wild swings and shots, black dress flowing along without hindering the motions, already second-nature to its wearer.

Once again, he had underestimated you.

 

-

 

Even though it had been kind of _your_ party, you’re the first one to leave the venue, your dress heavy with loot and you pull it up to keep it in place. Not that anyone would have seen you if it slipped over your boob, the hallway to your room is deserted, the other henchmen still tangled up in the skirmish, and you can hear the crashes of toppling tables and smashed furniture even down here. Mr. Kean had not noticed you this time when he stormed up to the ballroom with a group of a dozen identical Brutuses, face red and sweaty under his mask. And yet the fight was still ongoing despite the backup!

You snicker to yourself and move the makeshift loot bag on your shoulder that you foraged from a pair of abandoned dress pants which had been just lying about amongst the chaos. Despite Blackhat’s claim that the dress was made with more hidden pockets than you could ever fill, you had run out of space fairly quickly. Okay, maybe because you had gone over to also steal stuff from the ballroom itself, mainly the bar that had contained some choice spirits, and you really felt like you deserved something to toast your own victory with…

To do just that you take a swig from the bottle of expensive champagne you had managed to snatch on your way out, the pearly, fizzing drink tasting like success in liquid form and it promptly foams up the neck of the bottle to douse your velvet glove. You hum out a dopy laugh, feeling extremely gratified and accomplished. In spite of your fear, Blackhat had not immediately strangled you again for crashing the ball. In fact, you don’t think he had even been inside the room. There had been some scary displays of otherworldly powers, but none of those were from him. Maybe he had sensed your army of henchmen approaching before the attack and skedaddled. Or he had simply become bored once you hadn’t been around anymore to watch him dance and radiate ultimate fury.

    “Whatever.” You snort and kick the door to your room open with a sharp high heel, leaving a dent in the wood. “I did what he wanted, and I stole from literally everyone in that room, even that stupid barkeeper!” The loot is quickly stashed away in your suitcase that you then hide under the mucky bed. Now you just had to stay awake and defend it until your boss showed up. Or…

It takes four filthy rooms until you stumble over one that actually has a chair in it! You grab it, pause, and rip down the yellowed curtains as well since you don’t feel like hunting down a second chair for yourself. The one you found you drag back to your room and jam the backrest under the door handle to add some sort of security to your room should you fall asleep. And given the amount of champagne in your system, that might be more likely than not. The curtains you took are quickly bunched up into a makeshift nest on top of the dresser, and you take off your gloves and high heels to climb up on it, when you sense a distinct shift in the cold air around you. Immediately you wheel around with your hands clenched into angry fists.

Blackhat materializes with slow-clapped applause that’s not exactly slow enough to sound mocking. His burning eye, trained on you, tells the opposite as well. Still you wait in tensed apprehension for your impending punishment. Your boss approaches you, one hand curled up before his chest. Once he has crossed the few steps between you, he reaches out that hand to run the knuckles of his fingers softly over the side of your skull-mask.

    “Marvelous. Simply marvelous, my dear ______. Not only did you forge a visibly stunning mask with your mind alone, you also made it to be functional for your objective. But this amount of detail…” You freeze when he lifts his hand back up to run it along under the green and black feathers on your mask. Fortunately he takes a step back again to cross his hands on his back. “Now, how in the world did you manage to rally all those henchmen into attacking an entire room full of dangerous supervillains, not to mention their own superiors, with nothing but your word?”

You only shrug, your anger over the indignity he made you feel surfacing with vicious force.

    “Does it matter? _Boss_?” You hiss back and step around him to yank the heavy suitcase out from under the bed and throw it onto the crusty mattress. “Fact is I did, _and_ I finished the job. Here.” Blackhat leans forward to inspect the loot you uncover; watches, jewelry, tie-pins, cufflinks, monocles, golden cigar cases...

    “Yet you don’t seem overly elated about your successful heist.” He points out and turns towards you with a wide grin. You look away and cross your arms, feeling how your face grows hot under the mask. From the corner of your eye you can see the gleam of his teeth even in the twilight of the room.

“Penny for your thoughts, my dear?” he presses on and that’s all it takes; unable to hold back your anger any longer you laugh out loud in disbelief and walk away from him, reaching for the champagne bottle you placed on the window sill. After a deep swig you spin around, pointing the bottle at him.

    “Like you’d actually pay me for those! Tell you what,” you walk back to the suitcase, grab one of the wallets you took and quickly count out some bills that you toss at his feet. “Here’s a thousand bucks if you leave me the hell alone!” For good measures you smack the wallet at his chest as well and knock back the rest of the champagne, briefly deliberating whether you should throw the empty bottle at his head next. Yet what Blackhat says in return makes you drop the bottle to the floor: “My, my… jealousy does become you, my pet.”

    “I’m not-“ you sputter but the look he throws you shuts you up in an instant. Blackhat tuts reproachfully, approaching you to lift the mask off your face and disperse it in a whiff of black smoke, forcing your eyes to meet his.

    “Fortunately for you, you did not finish that lie, or I would have made you regret it without batting an eyelash.” He growls before his grin returns. “My foolish thief, I control the deadly sins with nothing more but my will, don’t think I wasn’t completely aware of what was going on inside your vicious little brain. Did it bother you this much not to be asked to dance? You seemed utterly loathe to when I laid my eye on you…” his fingers seize your chin in an iron grip. You clench your jaws, trying to stay silent but the hot fury in your guts wants out!

    “You were the one who refused to let me stay in that fancy suite with you because you don’t want any scandalous _rumors_ and yet you allowed all those whores to throw themselves at you like some fucking dandy! If you think you can play me like this, think a- _fucking_ -gain, boss!” His grin never wavers at your rage and slants sardonically.

    “Are you afraid I might bed one of those… whores as you called them instead of you?” he asks with audible amusement, which riles you up even more.

    “Well, you fucking told me last night how much alleged ass you’re already getting on a galactic scale, and up there you made it pretty clear that you want literally anyone but me, so fuck off, Blackhat! In fact, good riddance, I’d be glad to have your slimy ass off my back!” In your rage you shove against his chest but of course he doesn’t move from that at all. Instead, he takes another step closer to you, backing you against the wall. A hoarse chuckle escapes his chest.

    “Ah, there is just nothing more invigorating than the poisonous flame of a lover scorned… allow me to make it up to you, my dear.” He raises his hands and you jerk up your arms to fend him off.

    “No, just- fuck off! I’m not your anything!” you hiss but he simply seizes your right hand in his left and pulls you flush against his body with his right around your waist, making your breath hitch in your throat from the impact against his hard chest. You look up into his face, yours flushing again, yet not entirely in anger this time, and you suck in a sharp breath when he lowers his head down to your cheek, quietly singing: “ _Suavemente, bésame… Que quiero sentir tus labios – besándome otra vez!_ ” he repeats the verse while he spins you around, wedging a knee between your legs to force you to move and you can’t help the choked sound escaping your throat.

    “No…” you whisper, not because you actually think it will stop him, but more in despair that he was already shattering your resistance simply by switching languages on you! Your free hand clutches at his coat’s shoulder and you shiver when his gloved fingers slip into the deep neckline of your back and trace the scarred branding under your shoulder blade. Blackhat keeps humming sweet, strange nothings to you, his mouth so close to your ear his tongue tickles it with every other syllable, his body giving you cues that have you moving in a way so involuntarily sensual you feel like you’re going up in flames completely, and you hide your face against his neck, breathing in the bitter scent of his skin. Blackhat’s lips move back now, travel from your ear over your jaw and dangerously close to your mouth, all the while singing, sultry and beseeching, like he’s trying to tell you something in that smooth, foreign tongue. You shake your head an inch, confused. “I don’t know what…”

    “ _Tus labios tienen ese secreto; yo beso y beso, y no lo encuentro. Un beso suave es lo que anhelo, un beso tuyo es lo que quiero. Dámelo!_ ” And with that last, growled word he pulls you flush against him, his mouth sealing your already parting lips firmly, the serpent tongue promptly sliding around yours until you sigh. His other hand grabs your thigh and lifts it over his hip, erasing every last illusion of distance between you. Your own hands fly up to his neck, trapping him in a tight embrace. You won’t allow him to leave, you were the only one allowed to have this! He chuckles under your eager lips.

    “Such visceral greed and lust…” he praises, the hand on your leg moving up, pushing the ruffled hem of your dress back and you arch against him, wanton in your desire. “You truly are a creature of evil my love. Now, I’m quite curious to see how you will earn yourself this privilege of my company, seeing as you _failed in your mission_!”

 _What?!_ In a wink you have pushed him away from you and return his unbridled grin with another wave of disbelieving anger.

    “Yeah, right! Are you kidding me?! I stole something from every single person in this fucking ballroom, even the barkeeper! So either your godlike senses are broken, or-“ He interrupts your bristling with a raised finger, the pupil of his eye splitting into three, drool seeping from between his bared teeth.

    “I don’t recall you stealing anything from _me_.”

You have to take a double to make sure he didn’t just slap you again. Then you take a sharp breath to protest, but find you can’t say anything against it. After all, he had told you exactly what to do, and you hadn’t thought once about mulling this over for possible hidden meanings, as you certainly should have done first, considering _who_ had given you that task. Still…

    “Oh come on, that’s bullshit!” you cry out. “Steal something from _you_? What, your stupid hat, your monocle? Don’t be-“ With a blurred motion he’s right in front of you again, the grip of his hand around your throat real and menacing, cautioning your temper.

    “Don’t you dare give me excuses now…” Blackhat growls. “Not you. Either admit your failure like the proud villain you are or face the punishment for trying to weasel your way out of it like a lowlife henchman! If this had been a real job you would have failed, too.” You swallow against the hold he has on your throat and shrug.

    “Alright. You got me. Next time I won’t be so stupid as to take your word at face value. In the end you’re still just a trickster trying to fuck me over!” Your boss throws you a lewd glare.

    “Oh, you know me too well. But… I shall give you bonus points for this magnificent heist you put together on the fly; your cunning and improvisation is exemplary!” Suddenly he shoves you up against the wall again, bending your neck to the side to run his teeth over the delicate skin with a growl and you yelp in start. “ _But enough of this!”_ Blackhat utters in his demonic snarl, causing your knees to buckle. “ _I’ve been just about **dying** to tear this dress off of you all night!”_ And before you can do anything his hands transform into sharp claws that rip the beautiful gown into shreds, the sound of tearing silk and satin like that of tearing flesh in you ears. You gasp in shock, actually appalled to have the dress destroyed but then his hands slide over your exposed breasts and stop every other thought with pleasure and pain alike as he squeezes them.

    “Shit!” you hiss out, your hand reaching down for his pants. But Blackhat catches both your wrists and pins them to the wall above your head with two of his shadow tendrils, stripping out of his tail coat and dropping it to the floor.

    “Not so fast, my little thief.” He chides you with a wolfish grin and rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt all the way up to the black sleeve garters. “I still have to punish you, remember?”

* * *

This fanfiction is being written by ThetruemeK on archiveofourown.org . If you see this anywhere else or a third-party app makes you pay for reading it, call the police.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooooo boi!!! What a heist! What a grand failure! I'm SO sorry to leave yall with balls as blue as the fucking ocean, but I had to make the cut somewhere ;-; I hope you can forgive me this rude cliffhanger, I swear I'll make it up to you next week ;)  
> OH AND BONUS POINTS TO ANGEL BOOTS! You were abso-fucking-lutely right my dear xD 
> 
> **Next update on the 23rd of February!** And I won't be reading that one live... because of *cough* reasons... o//////o


	41. Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my lovely readers! **I've started to make achievements for this story!** There's gonna be some for the new chapters of course, but I'm also adding them to the older chapters, so maybe check some of the earlier chapters from time to time to find them all ♥ 
> 
> And, if you haven't already seen it, I'm going to be reading the newest chapter live each Sunday I'm not working and if the chapter is not pure smut, like this one x'D  
> go to
> 
> #### twitch.tv/thetruemek
> 
> and follow me to get notified whenever I go live to stream art or live readings!!

_A chuckle falls from his lips and his hand abandons its hold around your neck. You know what’s coming next and shake your head. “No, don’t, nonononono-"_

_Smack!_

 

 

### 41\. Closer

 

 

You squirm in the tendrils' grasp, your breath already ragged even though he hasn’t done all that much to you yet. Blackhat’s hands run over the expanse of your naked flank, goosebumps forming in their wake as they travel down, down, over scars and bruises, until they reach your hips. Now he lowers his burning glare from your face to where his thumbs are drawing lazy circles on the thin skin right above your thighs, an appreciative hum pouring from his lips. You lay your head back, unable to watch him devouring you with his eye, and reflexively press your legs together but that just makes him cluck his tongue in reproach.

    “As much as I would love to pry them open, I insist that you don’t tempt me to. It would make this much more painful for you with your hip flexors severed.” He warns you and digs his fingers deeper into the soft flesh of your pelvis, causing you to hiss at the sting and quickly relax your legs. “Much better. You look positively enticing like this, my dear ______. You won’t get a better punishment than this, I assure you.”

    “C- creep.” You press out, sucking in a gasp when his gloved thumb strokes firmly over your pussy all of a sudden. “Just- just get it over with.” Yet despite your aversion you feel only bliss when he repeats the motion, slower this time and you writhe where you’re pinned to the wall. Blackhat chuckles lowly, his hot breath suddenly right next to your neck again, making you shiver in anticipation. His other hand runs sharp talons over the lower part of your back, pulling a surprised sound from you.

    “There’s no need to rush… I have the entire night to find and pluck all the right chords on your body that will make you sing in the sweetest of voices, my pet. I intend to have you reduced to a babbling mess of a mortal before sunrise, and then do it all again, to see if I can set a record.” He murmurs into your ear, his voice soft with the promise of more pleasure but you’re trembling in fear; a prickling fear of pain and the unknown that has you arching into the hand still resting on your hot folds, your body already begging for more while your mind is still not willing to give in so readily. In response Blackhat grins widely next to your cheek, you feel it against your skin, a warm drop of drool hitting your shoulder. He kisses your neck, licks it, pinches the delicate skin with his teeth and you twist your head to grant him more access. The hand between your legs moves again, slowly, deliberately, underlining each of his bites against your throat with a firmer caress that soon has you winding your hips along with the motions, trying to get more friction faster!

    “Fuck!" you gasp, clipped from the force of your own heartbeat that’s throbbing in your veins, so hard it feels like your body is one giant drum that’s thrumming with every little touch of his gloved fingers over your clit. Your hands grab the shadow tendrils still wrapped around them, needing something to hold onto. “Please-"

    “Yes?” comes the curious, unhurried reply as though he wasn’t fully aware of what the hell was going on with you. He stops mouthing at your neck but keeps the steady, infuriatingly slow rhythm on your cunt.

    “I-, just…” you stammer, unable to return the intent gaze that you feel from his one eye, and your face flushes a deeper shade of red while you squirm to get your message across without actually having to voice it. Blackhat grabs your face with his free hand, forcing you to look at him, so you quickly shut your eyes.

    “Say it. I won’t charm you to get the truth out of you this time, but in order to get what you want, I will need to hear it. So tell me: what do you want, ______?” he doesn’t use the spell that tears the thoughts from your brain, but now you wish he had, there’s no way you can say this! His hand between your legs stills entirely and you arch off the wall in desperation.

    “More! Please, just give me more already, I can’t take this!” you all but cry out and fight the tentacles' hold, snapping your eyes open. To make it worse Blackhat completely retracts his hand now and looks at you with a frown.

    “That was awfully _vague_ , darling. More of what? I really can’t work like this.” He tuts. You curl your toes in helpless shame and desperation.

    “Fuck- just, _ugh_ , I want those tentacles rubbing my pussy like you did that one time! I want your _tongue_ on my clit, okay!? You said you were going to wreck me, so do it already you bastard!” Your chest is heaving from this outburst, your face feeling about ready to pop every goddamn blood vessel from sheer embarrassment and shame. You feel _dirty_. But when you look back up, Blackhat shoots you an excited grin that makes your heart sputter to a halt.

    “As you wish.” And he sinks down on his knees before you, kissing a wet, hot trail down your stomach until he’s right there, right in front of-

    “Wait-" you wheeze out in sudden terror, swallowing when he cocks a brow at you from beneath the brim of the gambler hat he’s still wearing. “Watch your teeth?” It’s only a thin whisper, but he smirks in response and lowers his head again, one hand slipping up the back of your leg to lift it over his shoulder. You barely have time to register his breath hitting your throbbing sex before the serpent-like tongue slides in between your folds and swirls around your clit in tight circles. You utter a shocked sound that turns into a disbelieving keen and then only breathless pants, each higher than the last. You clench your eyes shut, every other sense overpowered by what is going on between your legs, your thoughts completely gone, unable to process anything other than the waves of pleasure crashing over you with each electrical flick of that eldritch tongue around the very center of your lust!

He doesn’t watch his teeth, of course, and the sting of their razor sharp edges only adds to the feeling of ecstasy, the sweet pangs of pain bleeding in with the bliss until you can only sob out frantic words of encouragement, bucking your hips forward. 

    “Blackhat- yes! God, yes- feels so good!” you moan hoarsely, mewling when one of his teeth snags on your labia but then the tongue already laps over that burning spot and numbs the sting. Blackhat growls against your sex and closes his lips around your already overstimulated clit to suck sharply on it. The trembling leg you’re still standing on caves in without a warning and you feel yourself falling, but you’re caught in time, your other leg thrown over his shoulder as well. Blackhat doesn’t seem to care about your weight, nor does he stop for a second in his cruel adorations. You slump in his grasp, unable to keep any tension in your body anymore, and succumb to the feeling of pleasure you’re sure no human should ever experience or they’d end up insane! Yet you get to have it.

“Fuck me.” You breathe, whining out when you feel the cold tip of a shadow tendril slipping into your clenching snatch and curling upwards to rub against your second most sensitive spot. “Please!” He ignores you and noisily sucks on your labia instead, his fingers dragging over your sides and cause another wave of shivers that make you mewl. “Hah, what more do you want?! Please, Blackhat, I’m already begging!” You dig your heels into his back and in turn the thick tendril buries itself inside your pussy with a wet smack, pulling a voiceless cry from you. Blackhat draws away from your clit, dealing it teasing flicks with his tongue that have you quivering. He replaces the tongue with his thumb, keeping you painfully stimulated.

    “But you’re not _crying_ yet.” He points out maliciously and runs his free hand over your ass a few times before he suddenly smacks it, cutting off your next plea and turning it into a stuttering squeak. “Hrm, I believe I have found a more suitable punishment for you.” He chuckles ominously and detangles himself from your shaking legs, rising to his feet. The tendril stays where it is, slowly slipping in and out of you to make sure you’re not coming down, even when he grabs your shoulders to turn you around. With his hand on the back of your neck he pushes you down until your face is smooshed against the wall and you’re halfway bent over, arms still held up above your head. When you feel the pressure of his covered erection pushing up against your ass you tremble violently, your hips jerking back on their own to grind on him.

    “Yes, come on! I know you want to…” you purr in an attempt to make him drop this charade, but then his hand comes down on your ass again, so hard you actually wince and yelp. “Fuck! You bastard!” Blackhat rolls his pelvis into you, soothingly rubbing his palm over the spot on your behind that feels like it’s on fire. Another deep chuckle falls from his lips and his other hand abandons its hold around the back of your neck to bury itself in your hair. You already know what’s coming next and shake your head as best you can in his grip. “No, don’t, nonononono-"

_Smack!!_

    “That was for interrupting my lovely evening.” He rasps. “Were you really so jealous that you felt the urge to crash the ball?”

    “No!” you deny in indignation through clenched teeth and almost choke on your own pained inhale when he immediately spanks you again, harder.

    “The truth, ______, if you would. Otherwise pain is all you are going to get from me tonight.” To underline his insinuated alternative, he presses even closer to you, the concealed tentacle in his pants pushing against your heated sex. You groan out your still very acute arousal and swallow against the stretch of your throat, your mouth dry.

    “Yes, I wanted to ruin your evening, you asshole! How dare you ignore me?!” But again, Blackhat smacks you, the sound like the crack of a whip in the small room!

    “You will have to try harder than that to convince me.” He says cruelly, clutching your abused bum to give it a painful squeeze.

    “I- I wanted to _kill_ that bitch!” You finally hiss out hoarsely and feel the grip of his hand on your ass clinching for a second.

    “Go on…” Blackhat’s gravelly voice sounds tensed, fingers tip-toeing across your back. The thumb of his other hand strokes almost gently over your scalp. You talk faster now, spurred by your own emotions and the pause in his chastising spanks: “Shit, I wanted to kill them all! All those sluts that were so fucking desperate to dance with you! They didn’t deserve it! Tacky whores, all of them! I want to _destroy_ them!” Suddenly he yanks you up and pins you flush to the wall with his own body, the hand in your hair twisting your head around over your shoulder. His lips are on yours before you know what’s going on, and when his other hand wedges between you and the wall to grab your breast and pinch it, you keen into his mouth, a serpent tongue swiftly invading yours. Blackhat is drooling so much it’s running down your chin and neck but you still return the heated kiss eagerly, desperately!

The tendrils that have been keeping your wrists restrained up over your head against the wall pull away at their master's unbridled lust to join his hand on your tit, quickly slipping over and around your body, teasing and rubbing and pinching every sensitive spot they can reach, while the tentacle between your legs pumps into you, making you gasp with each thrust. Once free your hand immediately reaches around your back for him, fumbling to get into the waistband of his pants. This time he lets you, even grabs your hand to guide it, and the eldritch God growls in pleasure when your fingers curl around the pulsating cock inside and stroke it.

    “How wretched!” Blackhat praises, hunched over your neck, sucking a huge bruise onto the skin. “ _Que c'est vil! ¡ Que cosita tan malvada! Lascia che ti divori completamente, tesoro!_ ” The languages switch over and over until you manage to open his trousers and stroke his dick from the slimy tip to its hot base and back up again, twisting your hand. The next words, which he roars out, are so alien and ghoulish it makes you shiver violently in fear that mixes with your own lust. You only become aware of the tears running over your face when he laps them up with his tongue and pulls you away from the wall, chuckling. “ _There_ we go. You win, my little thief. I simply cannot resist such temptation, so I shall give you what you so desire.”

He jerks you back and through a portal, the howling screams of the lost souls whirling around you but you barely register them this time. When you emerge again, you immediately know you’re in his suite. Not that you can see much in the velvet darkness, but it smells much nicer than your filthy room for starters. The air smells like amber, strong enough to make you dizzy. You groan and let your head slump back against his shoulder, trying your best to keep up some sort of rhythm on his cock, yet the sensations on your own skin are far too many and too exhilarating to even hang on to your sane mind any longer.

Blackhat half drags half carries you over to the obscenely vast bed where he spins you around to him, retracting all the tendrils under weak protest from you, weak because you can’t do much else than cling to his arms, shuddering when the biggest tendril slides out of your hot folds with an embarrassing noise. He regards the glistening appendage and hums. “This wet already, dearest?” His eye is burning even in the dark, the monocle on the other side _gleaming_ red. A snap from his fingers and a crimson, indirect light comes to life around you, illuminating the sharp teeth he bares in a wolfish grin at you. “Why don’t you get _busy_ while I undress?” he growls with a telling glance down to his open pants. When you follow his eye you bite your lip at the sight of the smaller tentacles already curling out of the gaping fly, the dark stretch of visible skin split open to reveal his gory insides. Yet you only nod and sink down to your knees, glad you don’t have to balance on your quivering legs anymore. Unlike the first time you don’t hesitate now; quite the opposite. You don’t want any more delays or possible opportunities for him to torment you further! And you don’t watch your teeth either when you close your mouth around the pulsing tentacle in the center, sucking hard and ruthlessly. Instantly a hand flies down to grab your hair, followed by another hoarse string of unspeakable words, and by now you’re pretty sure they’re curses. If your mouth wasn’t currently so full you would have grinned. But Blackhat grants you barely a minute of sweet payback before he pulls you up again and all but throws you onto the bed. Once your vision has adjusted, you take a startled intake.

You’ve never seen your horrible boss fully undressed up to now. Even in the library he had kept most of his clothes on. But now there’s nothing concealing his vile corpus from your gaze anymore. Well, he’s still wearing his hat and monocle of course, and you’re inexplicably glad he does, but the expanse of dark, surging skin, stretched over hard-lined, lithe limbs that seem to possess a few too many joints in strange places, feels like this is something nobody would witness and later live to tell the tale. It feels _sacrilegious_. Naturally, Blackhat notices your shocked state and grins even wider while he crawls onto the bed. “You shouldn’t look at one spot too long, my pet. It _will_ drive you mad.” He adds with a quick widening of his eye. Yet you can’t look away; his skin’s complexion constantly darkens and moves in strange shapes and patterns, as if there was something writhing beneath. Hypnotized like this you don’t see him actually coming closer until he is right over you and pushes you back into the sheets with his now ungloved hand around your throat. Your mind snaps back to the (not unlikely) threat, torn between screaming at him to take you already or trying to run away while you still can.

    “Please…” you sputter out instead, not knowing if it’s one or the other. He cocks his head, his other hand wrapping around your thigh to pull you closer to his impatiently twitching crotch comprised of tentacles. You feel lightheaded at the dozen shadow tendrils menacingly rising up behind his back, arched and ready to either pluck those strings that he had said would unravel you completely, or tear you to pieces. Your throat works reflexively against the cold grip of his fingers. “Fuck me.” You finish whispering with your heart pounding, and it must have been something on your face that he saw, because Blackhat promptly curls over you and plunges his cock into your cunt with a feral roar, claws piercing the skin of your hip. A sharp jolt of pain flashes through your core and you want to spring up like a knife but he keeps you pinned down with unearthly strength as he snaps his hips brutally forward in hungry, unrestrained thrusts. The outer tentacles of his sex slide over your pussy, rubbing it with their ridged insides while their thin tips circle your clitoris like a third set of fingers.

The shadow tendrils quickly join in on the action, teasing your nipples and running along your sensitive sides and lower back to set your skin ablaze. Under such an onslaught, it is not surprising that you don’t last a minute like this.

    “Black- Blackhat!” you gasp highly with a tensed sigh. “I’m-"

    “Yes, ______, yes! _Come_ for me my little thief!” he orders and keeps up his punishing thrusts even when you’re already clenching viciously around him at the command, uttering his name in a clipped, broken cry and clutching him so tightly with your arms and legs you think you might have actually crushed a lesser man. The violent release of your orgasm feels like the buck of a shotgun straight to your chest, numbing every other sense inside you as you ride its high, babbling incoherently, praising him, _thanking_ him. Blackhat waits until your death-grip goes slack in the wake of your release and then sits back on his knees, still buried up to the hilt inside your cunt that pulsates in synch with your deep, thundering heartbeat, his hands wrapped loosely around your waist.

You try to say something, but all you manage is an exhausted huff and another, thin moan. His smirk slowly grows into a grin. The wriggling shadow tendrils creep up to you again and snake around your torso and limbs. They feel nice on your skin, but also so very strange that you don’t know if you like it or want to free yourself from them. To be honest, you just want to catch your breath now.

“I think that was quite enough of a break…” Blackhat suddenly announces. You can only widen your eyes in shock before he starts over, and now the tentacles constrict to keep you firmly in place, forcing you to helplessly endure another round of bruising thrusts, your inner walls already feeling raw and so swollen you’re baffled how he can actually move this rampantly.

    “No- can’t!” you choke out in between your disgraceful pants for air. “Blackhat, please-… ‘s too much!” He laughs at your begging, grabbing your ass with a chastising _smack_ that actually pulls a lustful keen from you this time.

    “Do I need to remind you… how utterly _insistent_ you wanted me to fuck you? You reap what you sow, my dear, and oh I shall plow that field of yours _thoroughly_!” In any other situation you would have groaned at that awful play on words, but now you’re just trying not to straight up die.

It feels like hours, and maybe some have really passed, in which he manages to coax three more orgasms out of you, each leaving you more wrecked and mindless than the one before. You’re drenched in sweat and drool from Blackhat, the latter leaving sticky trails on your skin where it dries. Limp in his vice-like clutches, you barely register how he suddenly bends closely over you and seals your mouth with a deep kiss that pulls you out of your near unconsciousness. “You should know… that nobody, no mortal or immortal being, ever got to experience this, my dear ______. You get to have this because _you_ are special to me…” you feel his wide grin against your lips and fear that something terrible is on the horizon, “and because I know you are strong enough to endure _this_!”

    “Wh-“ you wheeze, but then something changes: you feel his cock swelling inside you, so much that you utter a confused whine that turns into a pained cry when the sharp sting gets worse, and now you do fight against the tendrils. To no avail; Blackhat keeps your shoulder pinned down with one hand, the other still wrapped around your waist to keep you pulled flush against his groin, his eye rolled all the way back into his head in pleasure, foam dripping from his teeth. The awful sting travels higher up your inner walls, threatening to tear you apart, only to ignite another, _excruciating_ pain deeper inside you, and suddenly you realize what he’s up to! “No! No _eggs_ , please! Stop it! Blackhat, don’t!!”

You only scream wordlessly again when you feel the distinct sensation of something _breaching_ your uterus but he silences your cries with another kiss, growling into your mouth. His body convulses above you, the many tendrils keeping you in place tightening further, squeezing you like snakes. The lights suddenly begin to flicker around you, the room itself groans as it is bent against the laws of physic. Cold dread replaces the blood in your veins when you see the surging, dark skin of his body split open in an explosion of bloody gore, growing huge and monstrous, into a wriggling shape with giant wings but before you can actually lose your mind from the sight, Blackhat quickly covers your eyes with one hand. Yet he doesn’t block out the foul, unintelligible incantation he booms out in that deep, demonic pitch of his voice, so dark it’s more vibrations than really sound, strong enough to tear the world asunder!

And then it’s over.

From one second to the other the crushing pain inside you turns into a dull feeling of pleasant, cool numbness, the room returns to the third dimension, and when you dare to brush his hand off, Blackhat looks perfectly, horribly normal. Sprawled halfway across you, he regards you with a satisfied smirk from the shadow of his gambler hat. In light of what just happened, you want to smack that grin off of his face so badly, but realize you can’t even lift a single finger, let alone your hand. In fact, you are so exhausted you only manage to stick out your tongue at him and close your eyes, instantly unconscious. 

 

-

 

You sleep deeply and dreamlessly for once, but he follows the quiet surging of your subconscious mind either way, since it provides him with a steady, pleasant background noise to accompany his own thoughts, like watching waves running out on a shore. The incidence in the carriage is still irritating him, his impatient temper vexed that he could not get you to hear those voices again. Add that to the pile of unsolved mysteries he keeps discovering around you! He used to have mortals entirely figured out by the second day – tops! But here you are, curled up beside him under the heavy comforter, already over a week in his services and he was still more perplexed than any wiser. Yet it’s not like he gained _no_ insight at all… the fact that you had heard _multiple_ voices during your first encounter with death practically confirmed one of his theories already, the one he had postulated upon finding the burned ruins of the estate in the woods on Mount Ebott - your previous home before the streets and before you had joined the gang of Sans Gaster. He would have Flug research on the history of this estate and its inhabitants once this was over! After touching the strange bed of magical golden flowers left in the ruins, and finding out that your personal death-experience contained multiple voices unfamiliar to you, he had deduced that you must have died once already as a child, probably during the monsters' raid on your parents’ mansion, shortly after they were released from the confinements of the Underground by Frisk’s actions. Of course someone had brought you back from the dead later, and most likely tempered with your soul in the process. Who? Well, that was almost ridiculously obvious. Wingdings, the infuriating interdimensional _pest_ currently hiding in between the cracks of the worlds, even now, even _here_. He had followed him; or you rather.

Before he can continue his train of thoughts Blackhat feels you stirring next to him, your consciousness surfacing from the quiet depths of your subconscious mind, and he focuses his gaze on your face, watching you blink into the darkness and then flinch violently when you recognize him, a panicked gasp escaping you before you can stop it. He smirks, flashing sharp teeth at you. He can’t read minds, not exactly, but he doesn’t need to. Your expressions are a very enthusiastic story teller when you are not in control, like right now, half asleep and moreover fucked senseless. The recollection of the latter currently being performed on your face in great detail.

When you have caught yourself again you huff and eye him thoughtfully, a slight frown creasing your brow. He half expects you to try and slap him now after all, the flash of wrath after he had put his spawn inside you as telling as it had been amusing. And curious to behold as well; he hadn’t thought you to even be this lucid after what he had unleashed upon you. But more praise would only make you unnecessarily haughty, so he keeps it to himself.

    “So…” you say quietly, clearing your throat when you notice the hoarseness in your voice. _Tends to happen when one screams for that long… quite the lungs you got on you. With the right education you could have become a great opera singer,_ he thinks and waits, intrigued. “You really don’t sleep?” You finally ask and Blackhat scowls. He had expected something much more interesting from you after everything that happened. _Oh well…_

    “I don’t need to.” He answers truthfully, feeling gracious enough after the rather satisfying sex to indulge his little thief. “I prefer to watch your dreams and listen to your cries in the dark. That doesn’t mean I can’t sleep at all. But… let’s just say _bad things happen when I dream_.” – “Oh. Of course.” You mumble and quickly avert your gaze. It was something he had inherited from Azathoth, his father. To make his dreams become reality. In the beginning it had been one of his favorite pastime activities, to go to sleep and wake up to a world completely thrown into chaos by his dreams alone. But, like so many things, it had become boring after a few millennia and he used it rarely now. That was maybe the only thing Blackhat didn’t like about being himself. From all of Azathoth’s kin, he was the only one accursed with this bothersome affliction: the ability to become bored. Yet it had ultimately driven him to his biggest scheme of all and through that he had escaped a world of boredom like none other, finding an entire universe that was _fun_ to manipulate for a change. Speaking of something fun to manipulate: he notices you throwing him a nervous glance, front teeth worrying your already sore bottom lip.

    “What?” he rasps out impatiently. Then he grins on a sudden notion, his flat hand in front of him pointedly patting the blanket. “Don’t tell me I need to get the answer out of you myself again?” You quickly shake your head, your face paling and flushing in a matter of seconds at the memory.

   “I just- are you going to kick me out if I ask for a… a kiss?”

Usually he _would_ have kicked you out, kicked you all the way back into the Black Hat manor in fact!, but he senses that his evil plan might have already sprouted roots within your inner self, and so he leans over to you, grabbing your chin with his free hand. Right before your eagerly parting lips meet his however, he pauses and slightly pulls back, grinning.

    “And what do I get in return? Hm? A _taste_ perhaps?” You only hesitate for a second before you nod quickly, and now Blackhat has to actively suppress his excitement! He must’ve been right then if you were that ready to endanger your very essence for something this pathetic and insignificant!

    “Sure, you greedy old bastard. But I won’t help you up this time if it slaps the evil right out of you again, alright?” you say back with actual spite in your tone, promptly crushing his foolish assumption that he had actually broken your rebellious spirit into submission. He doesn’t show it of course and only snorts at your sass.

    “Agreed.” Not that he really would have risked getting wounded this severely a second time, not with that lurking monster so close by. He slants his mouth over yours, growling in resurfacing desire. Yet another aspect about you he doesn’t quite understand. He isn’t even remotely bored by the thought of taking you again, and again… he had grown weary of Flug much slower than anyone else he ever bedded before, only because it was still so amusing to scare the very life out of the good doctor, but his actual urge to have Flug whimpering for mercy beneath his hands had burned itself out within a year either way. You? He doesn’t think he could ever grow tired of this, which is as astounding as it is concerning, but it’s probably just another facet of your already intoxicating soul.

Blackhat shivers bodily when his phantom appendage connects with exactly that very soul, a flash of pure ecstasy shooting through him, shaking his composure to the core while you writhe at the contact in discomfort. Bloody hell, it was still as overwhelming as the first time! If you ever came to know what a terrible, pathetic mess the simple act of tasting your soul left him, it would be over! _How_?! How in every conceivable reality could there be something this divine and yet this _dangerous_? He lingers, takes it all in while you tense under his palm, your hands curling into the robe he had put on. And indeed, he quickly finds that his actions had proven to have the desired effect on your essence. The remaining light still inside it would be completely eradicated once this was over, and he wouldn’t even have to do anything. _He_ would get to enjoy the spoils.

With almost agonizing self-control he releases the addicting soul, wary not to disturb its seemingly so peaceful slumber. You exhale in relief once he lets go of it and pulls away, but then you have the audacity to shoot forward and steal a second kiss from his lips!

    “There, now I stole something from you as well.” You tease, your heart skipping a noticeable beat when he bares his teeth at you in a feral snarl. But Blackhat feels way too satisfied right now, so he lets it slide this time.

    “Congratulations. Now go back to sleep, you should get all the energy you can for tomorrow, or you will regret it.”

    “Alright, alright. ‘night, boss.” And you burrow yourself back into the sheets, the physical exertion granting you a deep slumber. In the darkness, Blackhat watches you and listens to the static rise and fall of your subconsciousness again, impatiently counting the seconds to sunrise.

 

-

 

You are more than rudely awaken from the deepest of sleeps by someone ripping the blanket away from you and exposing your naked body to the cold air! Instantly you jerk upright to fend off the attacker, but pause when you look around the vast room you’re in, your mouth falling open at the expensive interior of a dark, baroque castle’s master bedroom instead of your dingy hotel room!

    “Where the fuck…” That’s when you become aware of Blackhat standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed with a sour frown, dressed in his usual attire with the black coat, red shirt and grey waistcoat, top hat included. “Oh.” You do, as it all comes rushing back to the surface of your memory. Then you point an accusing finger at him. “Hold on! You asshole, you laid fucking eggs inside me!” you scream, looking down your bare front in immediate dismay, touching your abdomen. “How the fuck am I supposed to do anything with those inside me?! What if they break?!! You said they had acid in them!!”

Blackhat waits for your shrill protest to subside before he speaks: “If you are quite done shrieking my ears off, I shall have a mind to tell you that this _single_ egg is nothing like the usual spawn I decide to impregnate my more unfortunate partners with. This one is much more sturdy and takes longer to hatch as you will find.” You raise your hands helplessly with a groan.

    “ _Ugh_ , but… _why_?! Why lay an egg inside me in  the first place? Am I going to… you know, _look_ pregnant?! Am I going to crave pickles, or blood, or the SOULs of the innocent!?” At the latter Blackhat snaps his fingers and points them at you with a wide grin. You howl in misery, smacking your hands over your face. “I hate youuuu!” you whine.

    “I’m flattered, but you still have a job to do here and I think I have been far too lenient already letting you sleep through noon!” he snaps his fingers again and conjures up your beloved leather jacket, as well as the not-so-beloved black spandex suit Flug made for your shoot and that you had already worn during your first jobs. “Now, get dressed, and _listen_ well.” He rasps impatiently while you grab the folded arm full of clothes he throws at you. The underwear that comes with them looks more practical than frilly, which you comment on with a relieved huff. But when you stand up to actually put the clothes on, a debilitating jolt of pain erupts in your everything and you all but sprawl on your face before you can catch your fall on the bedpost. Blackhat falls silent at your ruckus. You pull yourself up and throw him a piercing glare that he returns with a raised eyebrow.

    “Oh no, please go on, don’t let my suffering interrupt you, my lord and master.” You hiss, pointedly sinking onto the edge of the mattress with your back turned on him to stuff your sore body into the suit. The suppressed growl behind you makes you shudder in unease, but then he just ignores your insolence.

    “As you might have already expected, the hotel is in utter turmoil and delicious chaos right now, thanks to your malicious improvisation skills, not to mention the dastardly theft of personal effects during the attack! Mr. Kean has already punished all the henchmen he was able to capture, and the rest of them face similar charges. However, he didn’t recognize you as the ringleader, and has already dared to inquire about your whereabouts last night, an insult towards my person and my organization that did not go unatoned. Now the guests of yesterday’s gala have gathered in the ballroom to demand the immediate return of their stolen goods, something Mr. Kean has yet to accomplish, and I’m sure he grows more and more frantic with every second his goons fail to find the missing objects.”

You pause in your movements at his words and throw a searching look across the room. As you have guessed, Blackhat took the liberty of taking your suitcase full of loot up to his suite while you were out so it wouldn’t be found by Kean's henchmen. Your boss chuckles. “Very good, my dear Ghost! Now, here is how we will go about the grand reveal...”

* * *

Achievement unlocked!

"Eggcellent!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throws a kiss at Angel Boots – thank you love, I’ve decided to immortalize your beautiful sentence! Also when I was browsing for sexy music for this chapter I stumbled upon Akon's Smack That and I was this👌🏻 close to actually using it ahdhdfg
> 
>  
> 
> **Next update on the 1st of March!**


	42. Devil's Gonna Get You

_You place your cup down and turn towards the man._

_“Forgive me, I was just lost in my own thoughts.” You say softly, and notice the jerk of Blackhat’s head towards you. You could actually be polite and well spoken if you had to._  

 

 

### 42\. Devil’s Gonna Get You

 

 

Mr. Kean is a ruthless man, a cunning man. A retired super villain himself, who made a deal with the dark forces to fulfill his life long dream of running a hotel for villains, one that would never ever be found by the tenacious heroes trying to stop them, the law enforcers of every dimension, or the higher powers that would choose heroes as their champions to do their bidding for the greater “good”. His hotel, _Le Manoir Disparu*_ , was his life and his pride, an interdimensional marvel with luxury galore, and despite hosting the most vile of entities on a daily basis, there had never been a severe incident in almost 200 years.

Until now.

The angry crowd of high class villains in front of him reminds him of the raging mobs that had tried to hunt him down back in the day, when he was still actively decimating the human population of his home world for sports. They’re just missing the pitchforks and torches. This was a disaster! The opening gala had went without a hitch, even with the unexpected presence of Lord Blackhat this year, no deaths, no fights among the high profile guests, and then this! He had absolutely no idea how in the world the lower henchmen even managed to work together long enough to cut the power and ambush the guests in the ballroom with the weapons and inventions meant for the actual convention showcase today, without gutting each other first! There had to be a ringleader among them, someone cunning and feared enough to be able to unite them under his command and convince them to attack their own bosses without fearing the dire repercussions.

But such a powerful individual could only be a villain himself and not a simple, pathetic underling, he is sure of that! But who? The interrogation/torturing of the captured subordinates involved in the attack had yielded nothing, they were all keeping their silence when questioned about their leader, even under the greatest of pain. Since he didn’t want to compensate his guests for any killed underlings, he had stopped the interrogation once he was certain that the culprits wouldn’t budge. While his goons were searching the entire hotel from roof to basement he had gone through his guestbook and the reservation logs, trying to find someone who stuck out of the crowd like a sore thumb, someone new, someone who wasn’t a regular. Someone…

Kean feels a cold sweat breaking out over his back, the sudden dread so intense it seems like all his organs drop a good foot.

_It’s my first time attending this congregation. It’s sort of my debut night, you know._

    “That… that woman!” he gasps out in shock. Of course! How could he have been so blind? So stupid?! She must have been in that hallway to pitch her vile plan to the henchmen, and some of them weren’t going to follow her lead, so she promptly stabbed the fiercest of them to establish dominance and fear only to later return and convince the rest of them to assault the ballroom, after she had checked the place for possible entrances (the French windows to the balcony) and how to gain the element of surprise over a room filled with veteran villains (cutting the power and arming her followers)!

He catches himself and looks over the gathered guests, who have fallen silent at his sudden loss of composure, already realizing that he must have figured something out. He raises his hands imploringly, fighting against the tremble in his jaw.

    “My- my esteemed guests, if I may have your attention…” not that he already had all their eyes on him, but this demanded utmost caution and delicacy. “It is obvious that the attackers had a leader, someone who managed to rally them despite the impossible odds. This someone could only have been an individual with high influence and cogency, a powerful-“

    “Mr. Kean…” comes a sudden, cold voice from the entrance, and Kean flinches so hard he all but soils himself. The villains in front of him all whirl around in unison with equal start, some of the female guests letting out a high shriek. One closer to the double winged door actually faints at the sudden sight of the newcomer, who has entered without anyone noticing but now his terrible aura fills the room like a toxic vapor. “You are not actually suggesting that the perpetrator is a villain? Someone among _your_ esteemed patrons?” Despite their own fear, the villains begin to mutter in offended agreement.

    “L-l-l-l-l-l-Lord Bl-bl-bl- _Blackhat_!!” Kean wheezes, shivering violently as his mind already conjures up the traumatic memories of this very morning, when he had gone around to ask the guests about the whereabouts of their own henchmen during the night of the attack. He had been a fool to ask Blackhat! The things he did, what he had made him see- “O- of course not! I- I would never accuse my most honored guests of such a vile crime! P-please forgive my thoughtless verbalization, my Lord!” He pulls on the collar of his shirt, the fabric feeling like it’s strangling him slowly. It’s drenched with sweat. “The- the culprit is someone that has never attended the LOVE congregation before, and she is certainly no member! She used a ruse, as well as a stolen or forged invitation to gain access to the gala, but we will need to investigate how she got into the hotel in the first place! She must have been the one who stole from the attending guests during the blackout, and is still in possession of those objects. But she can’t have gotten out, the hotel has been under lockdown since we gained control over the situation-“

Blackhat interrupts his reassuring speech with a cynical harrumph. Kean can’t help but twitch again, followed by yet another flood of cold sweat. If this kept happening he would surely have died of dehydration before the hour was over.

    “I’m no expert on burglaries, but it still seems like plenty of time to leave the hotel over one of the balconies, no?” Lord Blackhat rasps, rousing more irritated muttering now, the energy in the vast room swiftly turning against Kean again. He’s trembling from head to toe now, feeling as though the floor is swinging away beneath his feet like the literal trapdoor of the gallows.

    “I- in any case, we know her name as well as her appearance! There’s no place she could hide!” he defends himself, his voice thin and wheezing. His chest constricts painfully under the burning glare from Blackhat’s single eye, the wide grin mocking him. When the huge, green teeth part again to speak, he wants to scream and rip out his remaining hair.

    “Well? I am sure all these aggrieved villains deserve to know who was behind this heist of the century.” Now Kean crosses one hand over his back, bobbing once on the balls of his feet in regained confidence.

    “Her name is Ghost and she was seen wearing a black skull mask as well as a black dress!” To his utter dismay Blackhat just cocks a thin, antenna-like eyebrow at him.

    “I have danced with probably five ladies that evening who all fit that _vague_ description to the T. And, with all due respect my friend, do you actually believe she would have told you her real name, or even her actual villain alias?!” The muttering grows into angry comments and scattered outcries. Kean looks around like a trapped animal. Which is not far from the truth! This angry mob could turn on him any moment now! Oh, if only Blackhat hadn’t shown up out of nowhere again! But then he sees one hand raising out of the crowd, a younger man forcing his way to the front. Kean recognizes him once he sees the blue mask and silver Mohawk, and he tries not to make a face at the more than unsavory character.

    “Y- yes, Mr. Phantom?” he addresses the volunteer and the villain scowls at him, offended.

    “Uh, it’s _Dark_ Phantom? Anyway, I think I might have encountered that bitch! She attacked me with a glass at the bar!” Kean senses another chance for his salvation!

    “Really!? What happened then? Did you see where she went?” Dark Phantom recoils with a disbelieving expression.

    “What? No! Hell, I was too busy _bleeding_ to death!! I demand compensation for injuries suffered in _your_ establishment, buddy! Oh, and she stole the keys to my shuttle!” That’s the last spark needed to ignite the raging fire. The villains all advance on him as one, a wall of doom that’s closing in on him and forcing him to back off until the back of his legs collide with the low podium of the musician’s stage and he falls flat on his back like a bug. But even through the din of shouting people, monsters, demons and aliens, he can hear the rasping laughter of Lord Blackhat. _This is it…_ , he thinks. _I probably deserve this for my crimes…_

A sudden, slow-clapped applause cuts through the noise and the villains all look up at the source, lounging lazily on the marble balustrade of the VIP-box's upper balcony, one leg dangling over the handrail, the other propped up in a casual manner, bracing themselves on one hand. The guests move back a little, their instincts immediately making them cautious towards anyone appearing out of the blue like that, and Kean can finally scramble to his feet, wheeling around to the figure on the balustrade.

    “If I had known beforehand that this was going to be _that_ entertaining, I would have brought me some popcorn.” The unknown villain, a woman sneers. There’s something strangely familiar about her, but Kean can’t quite figure out what it is when he scrutinizes the newcomer. She’s wearing a black spandex suit with strange, two-toed shoes, a contraption of belts, straps and bags strapped all around her legs. A leather jacket covers her upper body and a grey hood along with a white mask hides her face, shaped like an upside down tear with a black visor stretched across it in a low, wide V. A slender hand stuck in a black, fingerless leather-glove twirls a big Bowie knife around, making it dance across the back of her hand and through the air without apparently needing to look at it.

    “Hey!” Dark Phantom snaps. “The fuck are you? You got some nerve!” But the mask doesn’t move an inch to indicate that the mysterious woman actually noticed him. Instead she looks down on Kean now, the twirling knife stilling for a second.

    “Oh hey Mr. Kean! How’s it going? You seem to have gotten yourself in _quite_ the pickle, hm? Did ya like my _debut_?” The amused, casual voice (with the slightest hint of a Brooklyn accent) changes into a sweet piping and his jaw goes slack in an instance.

    “That- that voice! Y- you’re-“

Before he can finish the woman jumps to her feet on the narrow handrail and takes a few steps towards the middle of the room, opening her arms wide, the blade flashing in the light. All eyes are glued to her, Kean entirely forgotten now.

    “My fellow villains! You have been conned! Tricked! Robbed! Bamboozled! _Mugged_! You let your guard down for a nice evening, thinking you were safe in these sacred halls, but guess what: you’re never safe from the likes of _me_! Allow me to introduce myself… I am Ghost, Certified Assassin and Thief, and I’m the one who just robbed every single one of ya, single handedly, using your own henchmen against you as a diversion! Did I have to?” she shrugs with a snort. “No. But wasn’t that just _fun_!?”

The crowd just stares up at her with their mouths hanging open, completely stunned at this revelation. They don’t even seem able to tear her to pieces like they had planned to do with Kean just seconds ago, and it’s not surprising; these guests represent the crème de la crème of the entire interdimensional villain network, surpassed maybe only by those who were members of the Black Hat Organization itself. And they just got mugged by a single person, a regular human from the looks of it, with nothing more than a disguise to aid her and a knife. How? How the hell had she done it?! And now Kean finally recognizes her! She had been accompanying Lord Blackhat when he had arrived, but Kean had dismissed she even existed like he always did with henchmen! Wait… _henchmen_? So she was working for Blackhat’s organization?! So, was Blackhat actually behind-

Before the villains can regain their wits and turn her to dust, Ghost dips one of her legs behind the handrail and pulls up a red suitcase with her foot hooked under the handle, effortlessly balancing on the balustrade with the weight until she grabs the suitcase and places it on the handrail. Now the villains gasp once they see the familiar black top hat logo printed onto the red shell. Ghost leans on the suitcase with one hand and crosses one leg behind the other. “But don’t worry, your valuable loot is all in here, safe and sound! And you will get it all back, promise!” Now the villains break out in confused muttering again, looking at each other utterly perplexed. But a terrible shockwave up on the balcony makes them shut up immediately and look back up, where Lord Blackhat himself has joined the thief on the gallery now, his hands resting on his black cane.

    “Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to present to you the newest asset and agent of the Black Hat Organization! Her services and skills, which you all experienced for yourself last night, will be exclusively available for members of the Black Hat Organization _only_! Your desires for unobtainable riches and hidden objects will be fulfilled, guaranteed; for an appropriate fee of course. Now, let’s hear it for Ghost and her formidable heist!” The ballroom erupts in a hurricane of applause, deafening in its sudden intensity! Ghost bows gracefully on the handrail with a flourish and lowers the suitcase over the balustrade with a gaff and rope, quickly detaching it when the guests all push forward to snatch back their belongings, and maybe something extra. Mr. Kean wipes his brow and sinks down on the podium, feeling painfully numb and empty at the unexpected turn of events. For a second he had actually thought he was going to die.  

 

-

 

You reel the gaff back up and attach it to your gear belt, exhaling a relieved breath that goes unheard in the clamor beneath your feet. Then you hop back and down from the balustrade, turning to face your boss. Your heart is pounding in anxious anticipation. You had pretty much winged the speech, but it feels like it went pretty well! And indeed, Blackhat is grinning widely at you, looking honestly pleased for once.

    “So, did I do okay?” you ask, still a bit nervous. Instead of an answer his gloved hand darts forward and grabs the collar of your suit, yanking you into the shadow of the box. His other hand pulls your hood back in the same motion and then you’re already pressed flush against him, his lips claiming yours in a wild kiss. But before you can even react or return it, he draws away already again, smacking the hood back over your head as he recedes. The entire thing didn’t even take two seconds, and you experience a slight case of whiplash. “Alright, I guess that’s a yes.” You utter, fighting the vertigo. Blackhat chuckles lowly and holds out his arm to you.

    “Shall we be off, dear? The actual showcasing part of this convention should start in an hour, and we will need to polish your language before I am going to allow you to mingle with actual villains! If I hear you slurring your speech again in front of possible clients I _will_ skin you alive!”

    “Oh come on, I told you I’m not that classy, posh type of villain, twirling my mustache and dressed up to the nines! I’m from the hood!” you complain but take his arm either way. Blackhat throws you a strange look, raising his hand to teleport you. But you’re too relieved to have gotten through this ordeal unscathed to notice it.

Down in the ballroom, Dark Phantom glares at the now deserted VIP box, his teeth clenched in fury. He remembered you just now, you were that frigid bitch he had met in Blackhat’s manor during the VIV shooting! And now you had not only dared to smash a glass into his handsome face, oh no, you had also made an absolute ass out of him by stealing from him… but you would soon learn that nobody messed with Dark Phantom and got away scot-free! No matter if they were working for Lord Blackhat or not! He was Dark fucking Phantom! He was the _king_!! And he always go what he wanted!

 

-

 

You spend the rest of the afternoon trailing behind your boss through the vast hall reserved for the actual convention part of the LOVE congregation. The villains whose merchandise had been taken by the henchmen to attack the ballroom glare at you in anger, but they don’t actually dare to voice their demand for compensation, thanks to Blackhat’s mere presence. Except for one; a giant, flaming demon-like monster with huge horns and the head of a bull who leans down over his table to point a sharp, accusing claw at you.

    “Hey! Thanks to your little stunt all my grenades got destroyed! I have nothing to showcase now! You’ll pay for this you little shit!” he bellows and you stop dead in your tracks, your fingers immediately closing around the handle of your Bowie knife. But before you can actually jump the asshole in an impulsive fight-response, Blackhat places his hand on the branding on your back, unseen from the villain you were about to mess up. You pause and shoot him an expecting glance. Yet he just nods his chin at you. What? He wanted you to handle this? Civilized?! With words!?

 _Me?_ , you mouth back at him and he grins, single eye flashing. So you slowly turn towards the demon, the piping hot breath from his muzzle fogging up the visor of the mask you’re still wearing. You pointedly wipe over it with your sleeve and step closer to the table that’s groaning dangerously under the mountain of muscle bracing on its surface with the knuckles of his clenched fists.

    “Looks like you should focus on investing in better security first, big guy. And maybe treat your subordinates better. _Way_ better. You don’t deserve someone like Belor, he’s cut out to be his own villain, and he’s about to realize that. I’d watch my back if I were you. But hey, there’s always the Black Hat Organization to help you out of your self-made mess!” and you slap one of the white business cards onto the table which finally breaks under the furious weight of the minotaur-demon and the additional force. Blackhat laughs raucously when the giant monster falls to the floor in a heap of splintered wood, and you grin wildly yourself under the mask, fighting your own laugh to look cool as you swagger back to him. Your boss continues his leisurely stroll through the exhibition hall now that the situation has been resolved, twirling his cane around on a finger and promptly smacking an inattentive villain standing in front one of other stalls in the back of his head. The unfortunate sod drops instantly, unconscious, under more laughter from those wise enough to keep their distance and be on their guard around the sharply dressed gentleman with the black top hat.

    “Pff, what a… **hot-head**!” you joke and nimbly evade the expected swing from the cane, skipping a few feet away from Blackhat who skewers you with a peeved glare. You snicker, knowing that you’re awfully psyched from literally everything that has happened within the last 12 hours, but un-fucking-able to stop yourself! “Aww, c’mon, boss. Ya don’t like my excellent puns?”

    “You’ll soon be laughing out of the other side of your face if you’re not careful, my little thief. I won’t always be there to save you from your own foolish actions.” Blackhat replies, and that makes you pause for real. You scrutinize him, try to read what’s going on behind that ashen mask of mild irritation.

    “Are you for real?” you ask in a serious tone now. Blackhat only grins mischievously back at you.

    “Of course! I’m sure it won’t be long before your brashness gets you into actual trouble.” You shake your head and raise your hands.

    “No, not that! I mean, are you actually going to let me leave to become my own villain, my own _boss_ , once you’re done teaching me _the way_ as you called it? I thought- to be honest, I thought you were just going to _keep_ me as your underpaid in-house thief and con-artist till my dying breath, or until I got myself killed, so you can finally get my soul!” Your heart is fluttering in cautiously growing hope. If you were actually going to be free once you had become a real villain in his eyes…

When he nods, your chest escapes a disbelieving gasp.

    “Of course I will allow you to leave once I am satisfied with your progress.” Blackhat says with an annoyed twist of his mouth. “I know you don’t have the best of memories, but remember that you signed a contract which binds you to my organization until you paid off your debt to me, ______. Once your part of the contract is fulfilled, you are free to go wherever you want. And if you die, your soul will be mine. On my honor.”

You can’t move. You can only stare blankly at him, glad that he can’t see your gaping mouth behind the mask. To say this was unexpected would be a farce and a lie! His scowl deepens and you quickly pull yourself together, you could freak out about this later!

    “Oh, okay, cool.” You manage to wheeze out and follow him through the rest of the hall, not noticing anything the other companies are trying to sell. You don’t even care about the stupid egg he laid inside you anymore; this was huge! Was that actually a gleam of hope on the horizon?! Suddenly Blackhat stops in his steps and you almost bump into him, quickly raising your gaze off the ground to see what has caught his horrible attention his time. It’s Mr. Kean again, who’s looking a lot better than a few hour ago. Blackhat tips his hat to the manager, making him wince and quickly take a step back. “Hello, Mr. Kean!” you greet him cheerily, not able to keep the malicious glee out of your voice. He throws you a look with a smile that more resembles a pained grimace, and nods towards you before bowing to your boss.

    “Lord Blackhat, Miss Ghost.” He announces and you roll your eyes at the _Miss_ behind the mask. _Touché, asshole_ , you think, crossing your arms while Kean uprights himself. “In light of your fabulous… debut, and because of its more than unsavory interruption, we have decided to repeat the gala ball this evening, subsequent to the dinner, and the LOVE congregation would be revered to have you both as guests of honor.” You don’t even have to look at your boss to know that he’s shooting you a wide, gloating grin and you barely hold back the miserable whine in your throat. _Oh God no! Not another fucking_ _ball!!_ When you do dare to glance at him, Blackhat is positively _beaming_ at you, telling you over a heated glare that he’s going to stuff you into yet another ridiculous ball gown for the occasion!

    “We would be absolutely delighted, Mr. Kean! And I promise you that there will be no nasty surprises this time.” He rasps and Kean sighs heavily, relieved to no extent.

    “Splendid! Now, I shall let you further enjoy the convention.” And he hurries off as though the literal hounds of hell were on his heels.

    “How _marvelous_.” Blackhat chuckles and turns towards you in awful joy. “Looks like you are getting another chance yet on a dance with _moí_.”

You growl reluctantly when his grin widens but then you hold up a finger and take a step back from him as he already leans in close to sneer in your face.

    “Hold up, boss. I have _one_ condition.” He throws his head back with a resounding laugh, startling every living being in the immediate vicinity.

    “Oh please, go on, I am beyond intrigued to know what makes you think you have a say in this.” He's still chuckling but you just cross your arms.

    “If I get to take a shower in _your_ Suite instead of the dump you’re having me stay in before that stupid ball I will put on another dress without a single peep, _and_ I will be on my best behavior for the entire evening. The dinner included.”

Blackhat falls silent and eyes you, thoughts visibly running through his brain for a second before he actually nods his head and raises a hand.

    “Very well. Enjoy your stay.” Without another warning you’re teleported away, straight into the Imperial Suite.

    “Huh. Okay?” You shrug out of your jacket, toss it onto the bed and immediately try to find the bathroom, not wanting to waste any time before your horrible boss decides to come looking for you. But it takes you quite a while until you finally open the right door. The dimension of this single Imperial Suite is simply ridiculous!

The bathroom you’ve discovered is almost the size of your entire bedroom back at the mansion, complete with a swimming pool, a gurgling waterfall, a shower big enough for ten people and a futuristic looking jacuzzi you don’t even feel like messing with. You lock the door behind you, not that you actually think it will keep Blackhat out but maybe he might respect your privacy this way (oh who the hell are you kidding), and quickly strip out of the spandex abomination, leaving it and the rest of your clothes in a pile on the floor. When you turn around, you gasp out in shock and recoil.

The ceiling-high mirror reveals the entire extent of your passionate night with Blackhat, and this time it’s even worse than when you woke up _without_ any recollection of what happened. The right side of your ass is just a marbled chaos of red, blue and deep, purple bruises in the shape of a hand, and the rest of your back doesn’t look better where his claws pierced your skin or where the tendrils had constricted around you, leaving lilac vines of contusions all around your body from which your old scars stand out in shocking white lines. When you fully turn towards the mirror, you suck in a sharp breath and feel tears of dismay and confusion prickling in your eyes.

 _What the hell?! When did he even do that?!_ , you think in a panic, watching your shaking hand lifting to touch one of the giant, painful bite marks circling your breasts, dried rests of blood caked around them. You must have had seen the wounds when you got dressed, but apparently your brain hadn’t really registered them, probably because of the fact that he-

That’s when you see the huge bruise stretching from the insides of your thighs over your abdomen, covering your entire crotch. And as if seeing it somehow made it real, the excruciating pain from when he laid his egg inside you shoots through your body again, forcing you to curl in on yourself and open your mouth in a silent scream.

    “Asshat!” you hiss in agony, rising to your feet with wobbling knees and daggers in your entire lower body. “Asshat, asshat, _asshat_!” You keep muttering curses as you step into the glass-walled shower and close the door behind you. The flat stones are warm and feel comforting under your feet and you heave a long, trembling sigh at the water that’s immediately the right temperature, washing the blood, sweat and slime off of you while alleviating some of the pain with its heat. The stuff the hotel has provided for its most esteemed guests looks expensive and smells the part, too. You use up all of it in a fit of utter spite, not wanting to leave anything for your asshole of a boss.

    “Would be wasted on him anyway.” You grouse and slather yourself with the luxurious body wash, wincing whenever your hands brush over a bruise too hard. An hour passes, maybe two, but you stay in the shower, playing with the thought of giving the jacuzzi a whirl after all, when something cold touches your calve. You freeze immediately. The touch lingers and begins to travel up your leg, tickling the back of your knee. Your heart beats faster, the pulse thrumming in your chest as you tense. When the black tendril slips up and around your shoulder, you swat it away angrily and continue rubbing your arms without bothering to turn around. Not that you’d need to, you can _feel_ the gaze of a single eye on your frame, raking over your back like the tip of a knife. Only once the branding under your shoulder blade starts to burn do you switch the shower off and turn around.

Blackhat’s grin is sharp and wolfish as he hands you a white, fluffy towel that you yank out of his grasp and wrap yourself in, walking past him like he isn’t even there. He chuckles.

    “I assume you finally had a chance to marvel at my… artistic skills. I can’t deny that your body is a truly inspiring canvas, my dear.”

    “Fuck off…” you growl out, rubbing your hair dry with a second towel. “Did you _have_ to wreck me beyond recognition, though?!” Suddenly he’s right beside you, grabbing your cheeks in a tight clutch with one hand, sharp fingers digging into your flesh and forcing you to look up at him.

    “I told you beforehand that I would leave my marks on you. Yet you keep up your utterly irritating impertinence and continue to test the limits of my patience with you. You should just admit already that you _enjoy_ being punished.” Under his intense glare you feel your face growing hot, and try to look away, but his grip is iron. Blackhat laughs out loud, threads of green drool between his fangs. “Ah, so I was right about you after all! Don’t be ashamed my little thief, I won’t judge you. As long as I get to be the one doing the punishing.” He pulls you forward and forces a kiss on your mouth, humming in pleasure. Until you bite him. But instead of pulling away or even flinching at the pain he presses closer to you, his free hand sliding in between the folds of the towel to thumb over one of your abused breasts, making you the one that mewls at the pain and release his bleeding lip. “That’s a good girl.” Blackhat purrs against your lips before he finally lets go off you and steps back.

Your rising relief is immediately crushed when his other hand pulls the towel away from you, exposing your battered body to the bright light of the bath once more. The single eye widens slightly and another huge grin splits his dark grey face apart. He drops the towel to the floor and reaches for your hand, holding it just by the tips of your fingers. Then he lifts his arm and yours with it. Higher, higher and over your head, twisting it until you have to twirl on the balls of your feet or risk getting your shoulder dislocated. Under a deep rumble out of his chest you come back around, your face positively burning at this point. Blackhat releases your hand and bows to you. When he comes back up you see a strange expression flitting over his face that might have been regret, but you’re not really sure. When he speaks again, you know it was regret:

“Alas, we have to get ready; as much as I would have loved to listen to your sweet screams again. Dry yourself and come to the master bedroom, we still need to fit your dress.”

 

The gala dinner might be one of the most bizarre experiences in your entire life, if not simply because of the fact that you’re witnessing your eldritch boss _eating_ something. Like a normal person. Seated at his elbow, as his right hand and guest of honor on the first seat beside the head of the table, you forget the plate in front of yourself and only watch in mildly appalled bafflement how he expertly uses each confusing piece of cutlery on the different courses, all while pleasantly chatting with the villains closest to him, giving the most convincing illusion of the perfect gentleman. You don’t know if you should laugh or vomit. In any case your food stays mostly untouched, the sheer variety in colors, smells and also the amounts of food sickening to your shrunken stomach.

You feel eyes on you and glance along the humongous table from the shadow of your, now red, skull mask. Dark Phantom, about five seats down to the side, is glaring flaming daggers at you, stabbing the piece of steak on his plate over and over, to the point where the shrill squeak of metal on porcelain earns him angry looks from the dinner guests around him  _Uh-oh… looks like someone is mad I made an ass out of him. Twice._ , you think with glee and quickly hide your grin behind the golden cup of amazing red wine, the only thing you can really enjoy at this dinner.

The guy next to you pointedly clears his throat for the tenth time in five minutes and you sigh internally. Probably better to just talk to him or you’d get an earful from Blackhat later. After all, you had told him you’d be on your best behavior, dinner included. So you place your cup down and turn slightly towards the man, inclining your head.

    “Forgive me, it was not my intention to be rude, I was just lost in my own thoughts.” You say softly, and notice the small flit of Blackhat’s lance shaped pupil towards you. That’s right, you could actually be polite and well spoken if you had to. You weren’t carrying the description of a con-artist in your resume for nothing. After all, you had taught yourself the language of the rich and famous, so you could freely move among them without rousing any suspicion until it was time to strike.

The villain with a tacky devil’s mask beams at you and immediately strikes up a conversation about his most recent and impressive successes against the hero of his blahblahblah. You nod politely, feigning honest interest with ease while your thoughts begin to drift again, wondering if Blackhat would actually ask you to dance this time, and what the hell that would be like, remembering the lady that straight up fainted after he had husked something in her ear. You doubt you will have the same sad reaction though, you were used to way worse from your boss on a daily basis. But then again, you could never be sure with him, either.

Thankfully the banquet is soon over and when you rise from your chair, Blackhat being a disturbing gentleman again and pulling it back for you, the villains all swarm you immediately, trying to be the first to congratulate you and pepper you with questions about the how's and why’s of your magnificent heist!

    “How bold!” A woman with a black swan’s wing draped over her head cries out, patting the hand of your arm that she promptly snatched to lead you into the ballroom proper. “A young thing like you! Ghost, darling, I see a bright future ahead of you, especially with Lord Blackhat himself showing you  the ropes!”

Your whole body goes ramrod at the onslaught, eyes darting around in a panic trying to get your boss to help you out of this! But of course he keeps in the back now and allows the nosy villains to crowd you and hand you around like an actual newborn villain. Your skin tingles like infected from the constant touches and pinches and slowly but surely you feel your composure slipping, fingers twitching to close around the handle of a knife. Someone pushes a drink into your hands and you try to see who it is but can’t tell in the mass of people. Like hell would you drink anything you didn’t pour yourself with the way Dark Phantom just glared at you!

But when everyone suddenly toasts to your health you lift the glass to your lips, faking a sip. Blackhat is grinning so widely in mean satisfaction as he watches you suffer that you’re asking yourself how in the hell the anatomy of his skull actually works, but then an idea comes to you, and you smirk, fanning yourself with a hand.

    “Oh please, you’re making me blush! I can’t take all the credit! After all it was my boss, Lord Blackhat, who even made this night possible for me in the first place! I’m sure he’s just dying to tell you the thrilling tale of how I came to work for his organization… ah, I still can’t believe it’s only been a week since I _broke into his manor._ ”

There is no money in all the worlds combined to pay for the look of honest shock and flabbergast on Blackhat’s face and you drink it in, tattoo this moment into your brain as the villains all turn on him in unison and crowd the eldritch God like a flock of starving seagulls a fishing trawler to launch their baffled questions at him. You slink quietly out of their way and waggle your fingers at him when he looks from them to you, baring his teeth in seething anger. Oh, the punishment for that stab in the back will be beyond anything you ever got to experience yet, but damn it was _worth_ it. So you blow him a kiss as well and already move to go to the bar and get yourself a real drink, when you see something next to the main door that makes you stop in surprise. There’s only one mane of hair this white you know!

    “Vijay!” you call out to him over the noise and walk up to where he’s standing by the door, the joy in your voice heartfelt for once in a long while. He wheels around at your words and looks you over with wide eyes, no doubt taken aback by the sight of you in Blackhat's most recent creation; the dress you're wearing this time is a lot more ballgown-ish than the first one, a wide skirt in black with a split down the middle to reveal the blood red silk beneath. Like the one before it's sleeveless but with a heart-shaped neckline this time. Void is wearing a simple, black tax but you can see the bandages around his hands peeking out beneath the cuffs of his coat. He shakes his head a little, the unruly shock of hair swaying.

    “I-, you look… _wow_. I almost didn’t recognize you. I just arrived, I got held up by… you know.” There’s an edge to his voice and you feel your heart thundering in your chest all of a sudden.

    “Did you find them?!” you whisper, casting a quick look towards Blackhat, who’s still trying to get the other villains to stop pestering him! Void nods at you, his face glum. Your expression falters. “What? Vijay, what’s going on? Did something happen to Frisk?! Spit it out already!” He jerks his hands up and shushes you, nervously glancing towards Blackhat himself now.

    “Not here! Let’s talk on the balcony. They seem pretty focused on him, thank God.” He mutters, already walking over to one of the French windows leading to the vast balcony outside. You snort and follow him, the dress billowing behind you from your speed.

    “You got me to thank for that! He’s going to kill me once they give him a second to breathe!” Void doesn’t join in with your snickering, he seems tensed. Immediately your good mood vanishes, fear and worry for Frisk making you half mad already!

Once outside you quickly walk away from the window and the keen eyes of the villains, along the side of the hotel that’s illuminated against the darkness of space, hearing the steps of his boots behind you. You exhale sharply. “Alright, just give it to me straight!” You hiss out, clenching your fists by your side, not ready to turn and face him, face the ugly truth. “W-What happened, how is Frisk, are they-"

A sudden pain explodes in the back of your head and flings you into darkness.

 

* * *

* Le Manoir Disparu - The Disappeared Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I get an "UH-OOH SISTERS!" ???!! 😱
> 
> Unfortunately I don't know when I'll be able to upload the next chapter, I'm afraid I might need to get to the hospital to get my abdomen checked.... fingers crossed it's not an appendicitis 😖 
> 
> Sorry to leave you yet again with a stupid cliffhanger for longer😭 I will try to keep you guys updated via Twitter but I'm currently to exhausted to do anything except lying around and drifting in and out of sleep. I also had some more art planned to go with this but I couldn't finish it, so that's gonna be up with the next upload, hopefully.
> 
> Thank you guys for all your lovely comments, I can't tell you enough how much I love each and every one of you 💕


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